This year has been full of personal revelations and growth. Some have been small…like realizing I’m finally at peace with missing the Paul McCartney concert. Others have been big…like uncovering something new about my marriage of 38 years.
See, Katrina and I have what you might call clearly defined job descriptions. She’s the Financial Executive, Operations Manager, and resident Sage. Me? I’m the Convincer. Oh, and the Toilet Paper Roll Changer. But mostly…the Convincer.
I convince Katrina that we need things we don’t actually need (or can afford). I convince her that expensive concert tickets are “memories, not purchases.” I convince her that bad ideas only seem bad until you realize they’re actually genius. And occasionally, I convince her that “to err is human, to forgive is divine.”
The Original Convincing
The first time this dynamic really showed itself was early in our engagement. We were both 20…Well, I was 20, Katrina was still 19…and one sunny Saturday, I convinced her it would be fun to visit a Ford dealership to “dream about our future.”
We left the dealership in a brand-new Ford Mustang.
Now, before you judge too quickly, let me add a few details. We were both college students with tuition due, had zero savings, traded in Katrina’s fully paid-for, perfectly reliable car, and since we weren’t yet married, were living in separate apartments. Oh, and her dad had to co-sign the loan.
So yes, it was exactly as bad as you’re thinking.
A Few Small Complications
The car went in Katrina’s name because she had the higher-paying job. Only problem? It was a stick shift. And she didn’t know how to drive one.
That meant I was the only one who could drive the car I’d convinced her to buy.
To make matters worse, we drove two hours that night to her parents’ house so her dad could sign the loan paperwork. When he came to the door in his pajamas, half asleep, I proudly announced, “Guess what, we just bought a brand-new Mustang and we only need your signature!”
He blinked at me, said a few things like “You’re not even married yet,” and “This is foolish,” and “You don’t need a new car.” You know…classic dad lines that make sense only in hindsight. But eventually, he signed it. And a few years later, he even forgave me.
Lessons Learned (Eventually)
Looking back, I regret that day. I regret the financial foolishness, the selfishness, and the late-night wake-up call for a man who already suspected I wasn’t ready to be part of his family. (He was right, by the way.)
But redemption is a funny thing.
This past spring, I convinced Katrina once again that we needed to buy a new car. My argument was airtight:
She agreed. I walked away humming “The Great Pretender,” except I replaced “Pretender” with “Convincer.”
The Twist Ending
We found the perfect car in Coeur d’Alene and brought it home in June. Four months later, Katrina still hasn’t driven it. She says she’s afraid of damaging it.
So, I’m the one driving it.
Now, I could see how someone might accuse me of orchestrating this whole thing as a clever ploy to get a new car for myself. But I promise, my intentions were pure.
Still, out of respect, I’ve refused to drive it unless Katrina is in the car with me. Which means somehow, she now has a new car and a chauffeur.
Turns out, after 38 years, the student has become the master.
Well played, Katrina. Well played.