Large prey

The day after Christmas, Andy announced that he wanted to buy a new TV. Not just any TV but one of those giant flatscreen high-definition TVs that become the focal point of whatever room they lord over.

We didn’t need a new TV. We had two smaller flatscreen TVs in our kitchen and bedroom, and the “main” TV — the one in the so-called TV room — was a perfectly good Sony given to us by my in-laws nine years ago. It measured 27 inches on the diagonal and had a clearer picture than our other two newer TVs. 

While we were visiting my family in Atlanta over the Holidays, Andy, my father, and my brother-in-law were left unattended long enough that they set off on a trip to a local electronics store. Andy was soon captivated by the rows of gigundus televisions with such clear pictures that he could see if Peyton Manning's nose was running and whether his teammates had shaved or not.

“It would be nice to see the football,” Andy told me after announcing his desire to purchase one of these TVs. And not only the TV, but also home theater too, so he could hear the fans cheering all around, as if our couch were in a private box at Lambeau Field. And by ball, he meant any ball — football, baseball, tennis ball.

“You can even see the individual blades of grass,” he claimed, referring to the turf under whatever football game he had been watching while in the store.

“Oh?” I replied. “Why is that important?”

“It’s just such a clear picture.” He was almost giddy, and he isn’t the type to succumb to giddiness.

The conversation then turned to money. When I asked the price, he hedged: “Um, more than we should spend right now.”

With that, I figured we had put the topic to bed. But he was not ready to concede. “It would improve our Super-Bowl-watching experience,” he stated, as if I cared about that annual rite. “And I’ve been waiting for these TVs to come down in price.”

Not long enough, I thought. I just couldn’t understand his desire. Not that I’m immune to shopping impulses. But they normally involve shoes or sweaters at TJ Maxx, items that cost generally less than $50. We’re outdoorsy types, not barca-loungers. For the price of this much-sought-after piece of electronic equipment, we could ski in the Alps for a week.

Then there’s the issue of practicality, and Andy is normally the pinnacle of practicality. We haven’t replaced the toaster oven that he purchased in 1985 because it still works, and he wears shirts he’s owned since college because they still fit and aren’t threadbare. And we drive our cars until the engines are about to blow. Which is about to happen on our VW. At least in my opinion. Andy says that the car is merely temperamental. Fine, but $3,000 would be a nice down payment on a less fickle car.

What was driving my typically budget-conscious husband to drop most of month’s pay on an audio/visual toy? Is it the 21^st century way of bagging large prey?

“Look what I brought home, honey! This should last us through the winter.”

Or is it his need to master something? To put it together, adding its remote control to the flock already roosting on the coffee table, and make it work despite the inherent complexity?

Or is it that Andy, and his male brethren, have, for the most part, been able to hang on to their childhoods more easily than women? And giant HD TVs — and home theater, ATVs, and even fancy lawn tractors — are simply the best toys around. They can get together on Super Bowl Sunday to show off their new toys the way they once gathered in the neighborhood to check out Ralphie’s new Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-Shot, Range Model Air Rifle.

We women, we’re the ones poo-pooing their grand schemes and telling them, “You’ll shoot your eye out.” Our childhoods feel like a lifetime ago, and now our days are consumed by keeping the nest in order, not adorned with expensive electronics. Three grand could go toward a season’s worth of groceries, a car that starts on demand, even Ralphie’s college fund. We kill the joy and feel self-righteous doing it.

When I returned from a business trip in mid-January to find a 46-inch Samsung LCD TV commanding the north wall of the TV room, I realized that I was more jealous than angry at the money “thrown away.” Andy’s inner child is alive and well. He can conceive of buying such big-ticket toys and enjoy them with no remorse.

My inner child left around the time our real child arrived, apparently leaving behind a surly grouch.

As I stood watching Planet Earth on the Discovery Channel’s HD Theater — the neon tropical fish swimming by as if we were on the reef with them — I realized that I miss my inner child.

Should I go looking for her? Or will I find her somewhere on the screen of that big TV?