It is finally starting to dawn on me that I have all the stuff I'm ever going to need. Every year at about this time, Judy's sisters will invariably have her ask me what I want for Christmas. I will typically try to think first of what I need. When a man reaches forty years old what does he really need anyway? Most men will have a roof over their heads, enough, or in some cases, more than enough to eat, and the love of a good woman by the time they reach this milestone. Even if they don't have these things by this time, in most cases these needs can be met at relatively moderate cost. Even the last item can at least be rented, particularly if he lives in the greater Las Vegas metro area, although the adjective "good" takes on a different connotation.

Everything else, it seems to me, falls under the category of wants. Although sometimes, it can be easy for a person to confuse the two items: wants and needs. I am doing this all the time. Once these things are acquired, it can be hard to get rid of them. Having convinced myself that my immediate happiness at the time pivoted on the procurement of an anti-fogging shaving mirror with a flashing display that alternated between time and date and built-in twin halogen strength lamps, I cannot bring myself to part with it. It has effectively become a part of the family. To forego it now would be to admit that I never really needed it in the first place. Also, it would just be plain cruel. You see, my little pal has never quite worked as anticipated.

It came complete with suction cups whose intended purpose was, I'm sure, to keep it adhered to the wall of the shower. In actuality, the purpose of these cups seems to have been to launch it with maximum velocity from the wall into a lovely arching, though quite possibly suicidal, swan dive to bottom most reaches of the tub. Now it rests precariously on a molded plastic shelf meant for all means of personal hygiene items, though never intended for a shaving mirror with a death wish. The first time I used the mirror, it promptly fogged up. I should have taken this as an omen that I was not meant to stand on a wet soapy surface and attempt to drag three sharp blades past my jugular with soap in my eyes. Now shaving consists of holding my challenged pal in one hand, a razor in the other, and alternately making two or three swipes at my whiskers and holding the mirror under the shower head to clear the fog.

In the past several months, the condition of my pal has gotten worse. The time and date have declined to make an appearance, possibly in protest of daylight savings time. At any rate, the mirror has now been rendered mute, its only means of communicating robbed from it as though by a thief in the night. Why, only in the last week, the twin lights inexplicably lit themselves and could not be coaxed back into hibernation although we tried for over twenty four hours to extinguish them. To give one an idea of how truly annoying this was, it should be mentioned that these lamps shine with the same annoying insistence as the headlamps of a sport-tuned Acura. An eerie blue glow emanating from the master bath kept Judy awake for at least one night. After squinting against their supernova glow whilst showering, I am sure I could quite reliably map every capillary in both of my eyelids.

Even with all that against him, I still cannot put my little pal out on the street. That would be like abandoning a partly functioning member of the family. It would be akin to the Joe Kennedy having Rosemary lobotomized and institutionalized. It would be like the Clampetts leaving Jethro in the Appalachians.

The latest item Judy and I need is a recumbent exercise bike. Although our record with exercise equipment is somewhat suspect, we have been using it frequently and in the manner intended ever since I recently bought it for our Christmas present to us for this year. As always, anytime I buy something I think I just have to have, something typically goes sideways. In this case, I researched my purchase fairly extensively, insomuch as one views visiting two websites and one store exhaustive research. No where on the website, in the promotional materials at the store, nay even on the box itself, was there anything in the way of specifications or limitations. Imagine my surprise, my chagrin even, upon noticing that there was a weight limitation for this particular piece of merchandise when I read the instructions. It was with a sense of dread that I immediately realized I was somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty pounds above this limit.

This is the time I realized my doctor may have been correct when he told me I was morbidly obese. Originally, I thought he just meant I was fat and had an unwholesomely gloomy attitude. I thought, "Bull crap. I'm a happy fat guy." Who in the hell ever heard of exercise equipment with a weight limit? This is like manufacturing a condom for sterile people or buying a Barnes and Noble gift card for Britney Spears. One knows he is truly fat when he needs to lose fifty pounds to use exercise equipment. My quandary was what to do with this new information. "Well, I did buy the extended warranty," I thought to myself.

I tend to use the Star Trek model when dealing with limitations: "I'm givin' ya all she's got cap'n," I imagine in a thick brogue that one rarely expects to hear in deep space. "We ...need ...warp three ....in ...fifteen ...minutes....orwe'reallgoingtodie!" my brain responds in a convolution of strange pauses and rampant overacting. Thus, I decide I will ride it anyway with the thought that if it breaks, I will attempt to redeem the warranty while feigning ignorance even though the disclaimer is also printed on a sticker affixed to the equipment that has letters large enough that Mr. Magoo could read it from the international space station. Thus far, the bike has been a trooper although I do have nightmares about being violated rectally by some errant broken piece of overstressed metal.

The more stuff I get, the more I begin to realize that all I really ever needed, I already have. I have my wife, my family, my health, and I have one more thing. It was bought for me a long time ago by one of the best friends I will ever have. He is a great friend. He would lay down his life for me or anyone else. In fact, He already has. I'm not as good a friend to Him, though. Sometimes, I go for stretches that I know are too long without even talking to Him, much less thanking Him. Luckily for me, He's very forgiving. Maybe I can make it up to Him, though. I know he has a birthday coming up.