The 47 Year-Old Nerd -or- My Big Fat Geek Wedding
One of the reasons I got married was so I wouldn’t have to work so hard to get a date. I know it sounds ridiculous but it’s the hand-on-the-bible, hail Mary full of grace, God’s honest truth. Not because my lovely wife ever has second thoughts about going out with me (God, I hope she doesn’t have to think twice), but now that I’m married it’s virtually impossible for me to get a date… with my own wife. Reason being, babysitters in our area are a very rare commodity. As rare as the elusive white lion, albino Humpback Whale or intelligent comments from Donald Trump. I’ve actually found more four leaf clovers on our lawn than babysitters in our neighbourhood. And you’d think with so many four leaf clovers I’d have some luck finding a damn babysitter. Nope. Now that the few we used to have have grown into early adulthood and found jobs that pay higher than the going babysitter rate, there’s slim pickings in the field of hourly childcare. But on this particular night, we’re in luck! My niece was available on super short notice. And just as we’re about to step out the door… it arrives!!
On my way home from work today I was fantasizing about the arrival of my late birthday gift from my wife which wasn’t due to come for another few weeks. My Marvel Legends Iron Man helmet. Yes, yes, I AM a grown man but I still have an affinity for many things childish. Date night was momentarily postponed while I carried my well-wrapped bundle of joy from the front steps to the kitchen with an unruly intensity to tear it open while I walked. Milliseconds after I set it on the kitchen island, still bearing the spots and spills of tonight’s homemade macaroni and cheese, I cut into the box and, in Indiana Jones fashion, held high the holy grail of collectibles; the coveted Iron man helmet with LED eyes and detachable magnetized faceplate. Tears were shed in witness to its glory.
I’m a collector or many things nerdy. But let it be known know that I’m not really into the scaled down trinkets. I like the 1:1 stuff. Obviously I’m not talking about the two-foot long Millennium Falcon or X-wing fighter as long as my arm dangling from the basement rafters above my makeshift man cave. When I’m not cooing over my line of various Star Wars and Battle Star Galactica (original series) helmets I’m lost in the blinding glare of the armour on my life-sized stormtrooper standing slightly askew in the corner.
I’m not interested in the going market price of my collectibles and I’m certainly not one for “mint in the package” memorabilia. No sir. I have to take them out and play with them!
How else am I to feed my creativity if not by escaping into fantasy and acting out a scene or two in the bath tub from time to time. Of course, I do this away from the prying and judgemental eyes of my peers. And, of course, all this is negated by my blog entry of today. But I don’t care.
You have to grow old. You don’t have to grow up!