humiliating wishes

Recently the Sober Husband asked me what I want (which he could give me, of course; if I could have anything, it might be an improved immune system, outlawing veal, ending testing on rats, a Chinese crested dog, or a houseboy).  Pondering this led to a conversation with Iris uber Alles.

"There are two things I want, but I'm too embarrassed to tell you.  It's really pretty humiliating.  You're going to make fun of me."

"Now you have to tell me!"

"You're going to say I'm too materialistic.  Well, the first one is a vintage trailer."

Contemptuously Iris spat out, "Everyone knows that!"  It's true that over the past few years, I've spent a lot of time looking at what I call "trailer porn", and I went so far as to leave a note on a beautiful little vintage Scamp begging the owners to call me if they ever want to sell it.

I carried on, but lost my courage.  "I can't say the other one.  I can't."

"There's been so much build-up, you have to say it!"

Finally, after some pressing, I admitted to wanting a browlift.  "My eyes are the main good thing about me."  I'd like to get rid of the bags under my eyes and tighten up my sagging brows.

Iris reacted with surprise.  "Honestly, I don't think you need one.  You're not aging badly like [name deleted] or other people your age."  

"But look."  I demonstrated how fabulous I'd look by pulling back my brow.  

"I'd get the trailer."

However, in the end what the Sober Husband probably has in mind is more along the lines of buying me a bag of jelly beans or taking me out to dinner.  While I'm dreaming, I should probably imagine myself post brow-lift, looking bright-eyed and merry in my darling vintage trailer.