The Bedside Lamp by FreddieTheCamel

IS AN ARGUMENT over a bedside lamp grounds for divorce?

Until today, Bryan Sandford would have said no. But as he sat nursing a tall coffee in the roof café of the department store, he wasn’t so sure. He found himself wandering through his memory of the day, pondering over what happened.

He and his wife Becky had dropped off their little girl at the home of her best friend, and then gone on to the shops. They were in the first year of living in their new house and much of the furniture and accessories were donated by family and friends. Bryan was content to live with that until the stuff fell apart, but Becky wanted everything to be theirs. Today’s mission was to find two bedside lamps for their bedroom and one for the spare room to replace the old lamps given to them by Bryan’s mother.

Their first stop was a huge household goods store which had an entire section devoted to lamps and lighting. Bryan was hoping that there would be something here to satisfy even Becky’s particular vision of how the bedroom should look. Alas, after forty-five minutes, Becky announced that what she was looking for wasn’t there. They drove to a second store and repeated the whole routine, then a third, and then a fourth, the big multi-storey department store in the centre of town. By this time, Bryan was fantasizing about going back to work on Monday.

The problem was that Becky–despite her continual frown at the ‘lack of choice’–was as happy as a pig in shit. She loved going round the shops and comparing colours and fabrics and all the rest of it, making pictures in her head of how their dream home would look. She kept grabbing his hand saying ‘Isn’t this nice?’ and Bryan knew that she meant it. ‘Shopping With My Husband’ was one of her relationship “things” and he genuinely didn’t want to rain on her parade. But ye gods… this was boring. And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part for Bryan was having to conceal how much he was bored.

The household section of the department store was in the basement, so they went down the escalator and wandered around the aisles. The selection of lamps was paltry compared to the megastore they had gone to initially and Bryan was convinced Becky would shake her head and want to leave. Instead, she stopped and said:

‘What do you think, Bryan? See anything you like?’

Bryan scanned the display, pretending to be interested. His gaze fell on a cobra-like tube with a lamp at the end. It was bendable in all directions and he could see himself adjusting it when he wanted to read in bed.

‘That one,’ he said, pointing.

‘Oh, Bryan! It’s so ugly!’

‘Well, which one do you like?’

‘I think this wooden one here is a possibility,’ said Becky. ‘But I have to say, the lampshade on that one over there is also nice.’

‘In other words, it’s a choice between your one and your one?’

Becky stared at Bryan.

‘Where did that come from?’ she said.

‘Becky, what is the point of asking my opinion when you clearly have no intention of taking it into account?’

‘I do take it into account!’

‘No, you don’t! Everything I pick is either “ugly” or “doesn’t match”.’

‘Well, it’s not my fault that you have bad taste!’

‘If I have such bad taste, why do you insist I come on these shopping trips?’

‘Because this is for our home, and you should participate!’

Bryan gave a caustic laugh. He was done being polite. A couple of other customers glanced over and Becky’s face reddened. When she spoke, her voice was an angry hiss.

‘Bryan, what the fuck is your problem?’

‘There is no way in hell the new house is “our” home!’ he said. ‘It’s your home! I’m only allowed to live there because I pay for it!’

‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’

‘But accurate! Take our bedroom, for example. You chose the bed, the bedding, the wardrobe, the curtains…’

‘No! We chose them!’

‘You shot down every preference I had! All I did was rubberstamp what you wanted!’

‘That’s not true!’

‘Then prove it! Let me have the bedside lamp that I want! Go on, I dare you! Let me have one thing in the bedroom that’s mine!’

Becky stood with her back against the shelves, staring at her husband. She felt trapped, cornered. If she said yes, that awful snake lamp would be the only thing she saw when she entered the bedroom. All the time and energy she had poured into making that room look stylish and lovely would have been wasted. She would end up hating it, and all because of that fucking lamp. But if she said no, she was proving his point for him. Bryan would say that she wanted total control over the interior design and that she only cared about getting what she wanted. And it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true… she was making a nice home for all of them! For the family! The only reason they ended up choosing what she wanted was because she knew better than her husband what the family needed.

Becky adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag and shook her head.

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ she said.

‘So explain it to me.’

‘There’s no point.’

‘Oh, come on!’ said Bryan. ‘I’m smart enough to understand a clear explanation! If you have some deep need to make the house a hundred percent Becky, I’m willing to sacrifice what I want.’

‘Oh, fuck you! Fuck you!’

This time Becky ignored the people turning their heads. In fact, she wanted Bryan to feel embarrassed. Straightening her back and looking him in the eye, Becky held out her hand.

‘Give me the key,’ she said.

‘Do you mean the car key?’

‘Of course I mean the car key!’

‘Are we going home?’

‘No, I’m going home! You can go to hell!’

‘Charming.’

‘Hey, you’re the one who said it wasn’t “our” home!’ she snarled. ‘So why do you even care?’

Bryan stood amid the display of lamps and lampshades with the horrible feeling that he had been outmanoeuvred. He looked at the furious Becky, her mouth tight, her hand palm up, and saw no way to win. If he gave her the car key, he was a weakling; if he refused, he was a bully. And the longer he waited to decide, the worse it would look.

Bryan took the car key from his pocket and held it out on his open palm. Becky snatched it away and was off, walking fast through the aisles, heading for the escalator that would take her upstairs and out. Watching her go, Bryan was surprised to realise that his strongest feeling was relief. The shopping nightmare was over. However unpleasant the fight, he preferred it to the boredom.

Becky was gone.

Bryan looked around at all the other men with their wives, being dragged around the household section of the department store. Poor bastards, he thought. He remembered that the place had a roof café and he looked around for a lift to the top floor.

***

Becky sat in the car, crying in rage and anguish. It was so unfair! So unfair! Ever since she was a girl, Becky had thought about life as a married woman and making a nice home together with her husband had always been a major part of that. This afternoon had been so perfect… and then Bryan had gone and spoiled it. That bastard!

After a good fifteen minutes’ crying, Becky began to feel calm enough to function. She called up the friend who was taking care of Tara and gave her the whole story. Her friend was totally sympathetic and insisted Becky come over for tea and cake.