The Bet

My husband, The Captain, and I had a bet.  I lost.

I must preface this by saying I knew I was going to lose.  I agreed to the bet on the undeniable fact that I was going to lose.  Heck, I actually wanted to lose.  But I made the bet anyway.

It was: whoever has the most shoes must buy a Keurig.

Going into this, I was aware of my not-so-small obsession collection of shoes.  I am not a shoe crazed maniac or anything (unless I am in DSW with a time limit), but I like shoes.  They always fit.  They always look good.  They are amazing.

Even this mug needs a Keurig.

But, I digress.  I wanted a Keurig.  Badly.  Since our visit to my dad’s home in Houston this past spring, the Keurig was on my mind.  It was so easy to use, and there are oh-so-many flavors to pick from.  It was like a home Starbucks where pajamas and bed-head hair were welcomed with open arms and good coffee creamer.  The Keurig was Heaven in a coffee maker.  I had to have one.

Summer approached quickly, and I couldn’t justify to The Captain why I needed to drop some cash on the Keurig.  Here is a sample of one of our little “discussions” on the topic:

“I really want a Keurig.”

“We have a coffee maker.  We don’t need a Keurig.  Plus, we are going on some vacations this summer,” he said.

“I really want a Keurig.”

“We don’t need a Keurig.  Stop it with the Keurig already.  Geez,” he stated, adding a classic eye roll for effect.

“I really, really want a Keurig.”  By this time, The Captain has left the building (or room if I must get technical).

So, I put on my thinking cap.  “I am going to get that Keurig if it is the last thing I do before the school year ends.”  And then I laughed.  Loud enough to sound like a complete maniac.  Game on, Captain, game on.

A few weeks later, after setting around hints like leaving the computer on pages advertising the Keurig and posting Keurig sale flyers on the family bulletin board, I came up with the ultimate plan.  “I’ll get you, my Keurig, and your little K-cups, too!”

The Captain’s shoes before the bet.

The Captain was standing in the kitchen (he really likes it there, but that is another post for another day), and I began tossing jibes at him.

“You know, for a guy, you really have a massive amount of shoes.”

“No I don’t.  You have tons of shoes,” he said as he began concentrating on loading the dishwasher perfectly.

“I think you have more shoes than I do.  Seriously.  When was the last time you counted your shoes?”

“What are you getting at?  I don’t have more shoes than you do.  No one but your mother has more shoes than you do,”  he said.

“I think you do.  Let’s bet on it,” I stated innocently as my plan was unfolding brilliantly!

“OK.  What do we win if we have the fewest shoes?” he asked.  Dang, I thought, this was way too easy.

“The loser buys a Keurig,” I replied trying to stop my pinkie finger from touching my lip a la Dr. Evil.

“You’re on,” he said, “but there are some stipulations.”

Ugh.  I thought. He is on to me.

“OK.  Spill,” I said, waiting for my plan to evaporate.

“All shoes count.  Even those we don’t wear, OK?” he said, looking to me as if I was going to challenge his little rules.

“Perfect,” I said with a grin spread from cheek to cheek knowing full well the outcome of this bet.

And, as I said, I lost.  My final shoe count was 126 (not including the shoes my mother had dropped off that were hiding in the trunk of my car).  His was 62, although I seem to recall that his was more like 82, but I won’t get technical today.

Home, sweet Keurig.

Surprisingly enough, we are both very much enjoying the Keurig.  My plan worked amazingly well.  Next time, I am going to go for something bigger.  A new TV perhaps.  Wahhahahaha!

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