The Sky Is Falling

I’m starting to wonder about my husband. Last night I found him sitting on the closet floor attaching bits of Velcro to his new combat backpack, the same one he was wearing when he fed the dog. Either he knows something about Doomsday that the rest of us don’t, or it’s a prolonged midlife crisis. His stash has been growing increasingly strange over the last few years, and I think I’ve narrowed it down to three contributing factors.

1. Too Much Talk Radio. James listens to talk radio from the time he gets up until the time he comes home in the evening, and I get the sneaking feeling that it's addled his brain. While he’s driving to work, he might call me once or four times with salient tidbits of news – such as Tom Cruise building a 10-million-dollar shelter to protect his family when the aliens invade the planet.

2. Hanging Out With Bad Influences. James and his friend Ken go to the electronics flea market every so often and come home with things like Russian spacesuits and Geiger counters and items that every family needs. They are, I think, trying to “outgear” each other, even sending pictures of their collections of stuff, like proud parents. It’s funny, how with 200 flashlights in the house, we can never find one when we need one.

I tried the can’t-beat-'em-so-
join-'em approach and went to Disaster Preparedness training and got my 72-hour earthquake survival kit, but I can’t possibly keep up with these two guys. When they go on an overnight camping trip, it looks like they’re building a refugee camp for 10,000 people. Every unimaginable necessity is provided, including the martinis. My portable potty simply can't stand up to the competition.

3. Reminiscing a Lost Childhood. Turns out that James spent a great deal of time in his youth hanging out at his Uncle Val’s Surplus Store, stocking up on every possible piece of army gear. I think James is trying to relive his childhood, because he now owns enough camouflage and equipment to hide and defend a small country.

I only got a little bit upset when I got a camo scarf for Valentine’s this year; I thought it was just a joke and James assured me it wasn’t: “It’s Multicam, honey, it’s been featured at the Museum of Modern Art.” What, is he hoping I’ll disappear? I tried to explain to him that raw diamonds blend nicely into their surrounding environment and make a much better gift, but I don’t think he got the hint.

Whatever the reasons for James’ never-ending acquisition of survival gear and combat fashion items, one thing I’m sure of is that we’ll have to build a bomb shelter just to store all this stuff, because the basement and the garage are already completely full. At the very least, when the aliens do come to inflict the End of the World, we’ll be ready.