It probably weighs a ton, but it could come in handy.
And it’s an excuse to have a damn good time in an emergency.
Drunk Click
Francesca
I was working at my desk when my doorbell rang.
I opened the door to find a cardboard box sitting in my hallway, large enough to fit a person inside, The box bore no brand logos or identifying marks, just a shipping label addressed to me.
But I wasn’t expecting any package.
I tried to pick it up, but the weight of its heavy contents shifted, and I nearly dropped it. So I shuffled it into the middle of my apartment, and regarded it suspiciously.
I opened a pair of scissors, held them like a dagger, and took a breath before plunging the blade into the belly of the box.
I looked inside and recoiled with horror and despair.
Not because I didn’t recognize it, but because I did.
I had purchased cat furniture.
In my defense, I was drunk at the time.
The memory returned to me: I had come home from being out with friends to find my cat, Mimi, clawing the arm of my couch.
Again.
“That’s it!” I said, though it probably came out like, “Thazzit!”
I logged on to Amazon.com and bought the top-selling cat scratching post with one click.
Online shopping under the influence is a crime against the self.
What percentage of Jeff Bezo’s fortune is attributable to drunken Amazon purchases? You know that’s why they instituted “1-click” ordering.
Sober people have time for two clicks.
My buyer’s remorse was twofold. First, I had completely underestimated the size of this item. I’d thought it was maybe two feet high, easy to tuck out of view.
Now I stood before a sisal-wrapped column that was nearly my height.
To be fair, I make errors of scale with online shopping when I’m clearheaded, too. Like the time I bought fishnet stockings for a Halloween costume and they arrived in a toddler size.
Why do toddler-sized fishnets exist in the first place? Never mind, I don’t want to know.
The other source of regret was that, as a single woman, purchasing any large-scale cat furniture feels like an admission of defeat.
It’s a monument to spinsterhood. A totem pole to protect you from a sex life.
It’s the opposite of phallic symbol. It’s an anti-phallic symbol.
I considered returning it, but I’d have to drag this heavy, unwieldy box to the post office. And I glanced at the once-neat lines of my chic, modern couch, now frayed to something more shabby-chic, or just shabby.
In vino veritas. I surrendered to the scratching post.
As if the indignity wasn’t enough, I had to assemble it, directions not included.
If you ever want to feel like your college degree was a waste of money, try to assemble cheap furniture without directions.
After some struggling, I managed to attach the base and top in a way that was sturdy.
Mimi raised her head from where she had been sleeping on the dining table (where she is not allowed to be). To my surprise, she jumped down and sauntered over toward her present.
My heart swelled with hope. If she actually liked this thing, I take back everything I said: I’ll gladly be single forever, it will be worth it.
Pleasing a man is easy; pleasing a fussy cat is satisfying.
She smelled it, bumping it with her little black nose—I held my breath.
She looked at me—I met her gaze, my eyes wide with hope.
Then she changed course, strolled right past me and over to the cardboard packaging, and flattened her body on top of it.
“No, no, look, Mimi, this, this is your present.” I crouched beside the post and made kissy noises.
She rolled onto her back, nuzzling the cardboard with her head.
I rubbed catnip all over the post and mimicked scratching it with my own nails to show her what a delight it was.
It actually wasn’t bad.
Mimi watched me do this, then began licking the cardboard.
“Okay, you win.”
Since then, I’ve seen the sisal on the post grow more and more ragged, so I know she uses it, but only when I’m not around to see.
Because the only thing that will deny your satisfaction more than owning a giant piece of cat furniture, is owning a cat.
The Bottom Line on the Bottom-of-the-Line
Lisa
Having said how empowering it is to drive a truck, I neglected to mention how disempowering it is to bargain for one.
Is there anybody in the world who likes haggling over price?
Not me.
I hate it.
Why?
Because I usually want what I’m bargaining for.
Plus I want to be liked.
This would be the double whammy for negotiators.
Let me remind you that I was a lawyer in a former life, and I negotiated all the time. I was a badass negotiator, back then. Because I wasn’t fighting for myself. I was fighting for you.
It brought out the mama bear in me.
But when I’m fighting for myself, I’m a kitten. And not one of those kittens that scratches your hand. One of those kittens that hooks its flimsy nails into your sweater and won’t let go.
You have to declaw me to free yourself from my love attack.
So what happened was I went to my Ford dealership, because I liked my old bottom-of-the-line truck and I wanted to replace it with another bottom-of-the-line truck. By the way, don’t think I’m being cheap. The truck is my second car, and I use it mostly to plow snow, pull horses, and tool around the block when I need self-esteem.
But the Ford dealership didn’t have a bottom-of-the-line truck for me to test-drive. They offered to order one for me, but only if I promised to buy it first, without seeing or even driving it.
That struck me as a pig in a poke, truck-wise.
So I went home and started comfort-eating in front of the TV—and lo and behold, I saw a commercial for a Toyota truck, which was a bright blue like an M&M.
And I thought, why not?
I like that color and I love M&Ms.
Also, maybe I’m in a Ford rut?
I get that way with cars, food, and clothes.
The only thing I don’t get that way with is husbands.
I have no problem changing things up in the Marriage Department.
But chocolate cake and I will be together forever.
To return to point, I used to think that way about Ford and I couldn’t give it up easily, so I went to another Ford dealership, where they happened to have one bottom-of-the line truck, in white. I drove it around, and the Ford guys were super nice and I liked the truck okay, but I kept thinking about the blue Toyota in the commercial.
My head had been turned.
Then I did some research into Toyota trucks and I learned that they’re built in the USA, which matters to me.
So on a lark, I went to a Toyota dealership, but they didn’t have the bottom-of-the-line. The only truck they had was middle-of-the-line—in the M&M blue.
I test-drove it and fell in love.
And I wanted it, even though it was nicer than I needed.
Let the bargaining begin!