My boyfriend has an approach to consumerism that most of America could use. In this toss-everything, buy-new-yearly economy, he stands out as someone who mulls over his purchases, buys high-quality items, and uses his items until they’re worn through. Rather than enjoying a new purchase — say, a much-needed new pair of hiking boots — he mourns the need to abandon a pair of shoes that has served him well and taken him hundreds of miles.
Last spring, on a trip to Camden for some climbing, Sean’s beloved Wayfarers, which he had proudly worn since early high school, fell out of his climbing bag. When we went back later, we searched for them in vain (seriously, nobody just leaves Ray Bans sitting there for their owner to come back…). Sean was heartbroken. Any time the sun shone in his eyes, he mourned his Bob Dylan shades.
So I bought him a pair for our anniversary.
Suffice it to say that he was wicked excited about them.
Anyway, then we went out to dinner and gorged ourselves on incredibly delicious and rich food.
And then we went home and gorged ourselves on incredibly delicious and rich beer.
While we did that, we watched the extended edition of Return of the King. We cuddled up with the kitties and some warm blankets and watched some orcs get slain.
It was an excellent celebration of our relationship.