Time has stopped for me. You see, my watch has died, and though I rarely ever wear a watch, when I do, I like to have it working because, you know, it's kind of convenient to have a fully functioning timepiece. Mine stopped working when the battery died two months ago at 11:37:14 AM.
Now, I suppose I could run out and pick up a battery and cram it in there myself; however, since I lack the nimble fingers of a Chinese sweatshop seamstress, I think it's probably in the best interests of time and space for me to just take it to a jewelry shop and have them deal with it.
Why am I telling you all about my watch? Well... Here's the thing:
Guys, and I know a couple of you read this, if you ever get the chance to tell your wife, girlfriend, or significant other that you're going to the jewelry store, regardless of how innocuous or utterly benign the reason, do it. It's just like tapping on a fish tank. Women get all wigged-out gonky when you plant that little nugget in their heads. It's kind of like when they tell us that they're going to Best Buy, or when you even mention the name "Chuck E. Cheese" in a room full of children. Great things happen, and I wonder how long I can stretch this sort of thing out before guilt overwhelms me, and how much I will pay in the long run.
"Let's go have lunch with my parents today," she may ask.
"Ohhh," I'll stammer nervously. "You know, umm, I have to go to the jewelry store to get my watch fixed. It's driving me nuts."
"Yeah. They must sell lousy batteries at that place."
"It's okay, honey. You go to the jewelers and, since you're out, go have a beer with your friends, and when you get home tonight, I'll make you a huge bacon-wrapped steak for dinner, draw you a nice, hot bubble bath and then give you a massage and invite my college roommate over to spend the night."
Hey! Don't judge me. It's not MY mind leaping to conclusions. I'm just too stupid and clumsy to change a watch battery on my own.