On not buying a pitcher

Yesterday, I did not buy a $15 pitcher at Pier 1 after not buying several pitchers at Bed Bath and Beyond.

Had I been alone, I would have bought the one at Pier 1 happily and without regret.

But I was not alone.

I was with my husband. Tomorrow, we will have been married for exactly three weeks, and after 38 years of singlehood, my life has changed.

I found myself standing in the store trying to explain why we needed a pitcher.

“I could make you iced tea.”

“You don’t like iced tea.”

“No, but you do. And if we ever want to make any drinks, we need a pitcher.”

“How long have you wanted a pitcher?”

“Forever.” This is true, actually. I have pretty much always wanted a nice glass pitcher and have never had one.

I would be content with a cheap plastic pitcher, except that I have been reading about how bad plastic is for us, so I want a glass one to protect me and Andrew and the children we don’t have from all those chemicals leaching into our cucumber-mint water.

“I’m not convinced,” he says.

I sigh and  proceed to the counter with the wedding card for his boss and her soon-to-be husband and a birthday card for his dad, frustrated.

In the old days, I would have just bought the pitcher myself.

But in the car, I tell him I would also drink more water if it were cold and flavored, and he tells me he doesn’t like getting into the fridge for water, he’d rather drink it warm, and we both realize we’re being a little ridiculous.

And then he says, “What if we looked for one at a garage sale?”

“Or at thrift stores,” I say.

And this becomes an adventure. If we don’t find one, we both agree that we can always come back and get the pretty glass one.

My life is more complicated with Andrew.

Buying a pitcher becomes an exercise instead of an impulse.

It’s also more disciplined. Because if we buy a pitcher, I’ll have to use it.

In the old days, I probably would have plunked down the cash and put my pretty pitcher on a shelf and forgotten about it.

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