This is a Story about an Ax

But don't worry, there is nary a limb lost or blood shed.

This is also a story about boyfriends and how freaking weird they are.

As technically it is the beginning of summer here in Pittsburgh, my boyfriend decided he needed new sunglasses. This might be a little premature of him, as the only sun yet to be seen this year is a few brave rays of sunlight trying to best the thick downy cover of clouds that have settled in for the long haul. The story of the demise of his old sunglasses is a dull story in which the sunglasses in question may have been commandeered by and subsequently dropped and broken by a certain guilty girlfriend. Oops.

Anyways, in order to protect his eyeballs from the non-existent sun here, we went bargain hunting in the Poor College Kid's Mecca: Gabriel Brothers. You want mismatched clothing? You want brightly colored uncomfortable boots? You want cheap clothing with holes in them? You go to Gabe's. Yes, I have purchased all of those items before. I'm a fan of the themed parties, and off to Gabe's I go in search of a cheap costume.

So while I was wandering around the aisles, blissfully looking at hideous cheap clothing and bizarre shoes, perfect for stopping circulation to your feet, my boyfriend was trying on every and all pairs of sunglasses located in the store. After a rather long period of deciding between two markedly similar pairs of aviators, he finally made a decision.

As we were standing in line, and I was blathering about this that and the other thing, Boyfriend (unfortunately for him, calling him 'Boyfriend' is a habit I've had for years; it got to the point that all my best friends from college called him Boyfriend when he was around rather than his real name. He acts all embarrassed, but I know he is really flattered that five girls call him boyfriend.) stopped listening, as per usual, but for a more serious matter. He stood, transfixed, by the glowing set up before him. I glanced at him, and I swear I have never seen his face look more enraptured.

Lucky for him, I have a habit of carrying my little Sony camera everywhere. Not that I'm an avid, or even quality photographer, but just in case, I like to have it on me. What Boyfriend saw was the above picture. Dozens of glittering axes sitting in a cage, patiently waiting for some unsuspecting customer to make an impulse buy. Of a weapon. A bargain weapon at that. Your very own limb-cutter-offer, for the low, low price of $19.99!

As soon as Boyfriend could tear his eyes off of the sight making all of his manly man I-am-your-protector-grrr-ness going crazy, he turned towards me, eyes full of hope.

"Ohh no," I managed to get in before an onslaught of pleading and explanations took over.

"Please? Oh c'mon, why not? How cool would this be? I mean I could use it as protection from intruders. And I could go into the woods and chop stuff! 'Want a fire, honey? Well me and my ax will go and chop some wood!'" At this, he went over to the cage, plucked an ax out of the lot and held it in front of him as if it was the pick of the litter.

"And I've always said I want some suspenders," he continued. "This would be PERFECT to carry around in my TRUCK!" Steroid-infused men got nuthin' on him.

This exclamation led me to sing, "He's a lumberjack and he doesn't care," whilst jigging in the line. We were making quite the scene.

"I WANT this. For my birthday! Get this: you can even wrap it in ax paper!" He knows I'm a sucker for witticisms.

I finally managed to convince him that buying an ax when you don't have your own grown-up place yet would be pointless. And, if he really wanted an ax, he should go to Home Depot and buy a good one, not a Gabe's knock-off.

I thought the story was over. Until two days ago, when we met up with one of my best friends from from high school and her fiance to catch up and have celebratory shenanigans on our surprising successful completion of college. After several hours of chatting and reminiscing, Boyfriend poked me and hissed, "Tell them about the birthday present you're getting me! He'll understand!"

I began to recount the tale of the object of my boyfriend's desire, culminating with the showing of the picture on my camera. Male fiance looked at my friend and simply said, "Wow. Please?" After the girls stopped laughing and the men stopped high-fiving, the jokes about how necessary an ax is for one's life in the suburbs started.

The most convincing argument was, "So, there's an intruder in your house, ok?"

Between giggles, I interject, "What are they stealing?"

Glare. "Oh, I don't know. Stuff."

My friend: "Oh, no, not our stuff! Where's our ax?!"

"Exactly! That's the beauty of it! 'Oh, you're trying to steal my stuff? Meet my ax.' BOOM! Now he is disarmed. Yes. See what I did there? Disarmed? No more gun AND no more arm?" I do love those puns.

I do not understand men. Why is an ax essential to life, when you have no land in which to tend, is beyond me. But I do know that this ax thing is not over.