The Player

The Player

My husband wanted 
a record player.

Why? I asked.

We don’t have ROOM for a record player. 

We don’t NEED a record player. 

We don’t even OWN any records.

Still, every time I browsed local thrift stores 

he asked, Did you see any record players for me?

An icy no was my standard reply.

Where would we PUT a record player? I asked.

Why don’t you ask for one for Christmas? I offered.

 

One night we wandered the Salvation Army 

before heading out to dinner.  I turned my back 

not one minute and, of course, you know what he found.

A record player.

A brown record player.

In a portable plastic case.

He crossed the store grinning, 

that contraption hanging at his side 

like a briefcase. 

It’s only $10, he said.

It’s not even attractive, I whined.

Are you kidding?  

It’s portable.  

It’s awesome, he said.

Then, of course, we had to buy 
some records.