Our not-so-golden years

"Get some batteries. I'll fill out the warranty," Jim said helpfully. The new blood pressure gadget lay on the counter in pieces.

"No, no! Never fill out the warranty!" I said. "It's not a real warranty, it's a marketing gimmick." Good heavens, everyone knows that. Almost everyone. "I'll run out to get the batteries."

"I can glue your vacuum cleaner wands together if you tell me where the crazy glue is," Jim offered sweetly. Post-op R & R had landed him full-time in the house. Restless. Missing his job.

"Stay the hell away from the vacuum cleaner!" I shouted. "The head has to swivel!" Glue? What was he thinking? "I'll be right back."

I hated to fire up six cylinders just to get to the Dollar Tree. But with the husband on the mend, I should be on my knees thanking the Good Lord.

Killing two birds with one trip

I stuck the vacuum parts into the car. The tiny shop is only two doors down from Dollar Tree. At least I'd get a two-fer on the carbon footprint.

A quick in and out at Dollar Tree— four batteries for a buck! But the morose vacuum clerk shook his dismal jowls at my old black wand. "Don't make those any more. Let's see."

He stirred a cardboard box of used attachments while an expensive Dyson machine glowered at me from wall hooks. One after another the salvaged heads were too big or too small. Then one heavy, rather odd one did fit.

"Well, OK," I said, against my better judgment. It did stick firmly to my old wand.

"$25," Mr. Gloomy intoned.

"$25?" I screeched as if he'd asked $100. He looked at me impassively from bushy eyebrows.

"How much you give?"

"$12."

"No can do $12. Twenty-five. Good head. Make carpets clean."

"I don't have carpets, only rugs. Twelve! OK, $15."

"Twenty-five. New!"

I sighed and turned to go.

"OK, $16," he relented. "Plus tax."

He had me. I counted out $17.32. Very slowly he wrote a receipt on an old-fashioned paper tablet, the kind I remember from my childhood. Now, with new batteries and vital home management equipment, my gas-guzzling, planet-warming errand was complete.

One slight problem

"Here they are. Only a buck!" I said triumphantly as I plunked the batteries down onto the table where Jim had attached two skinny little hoses like aortas to the blood pressure gadget's mechanical heart. He tore the plastic off the pack.

"Rats. These are AA's. We need AAA's."

"Oh damn." Another carbon trip. Well, the husband's strength is returning. He'll be good as new or better in a week or so. Screw the ozone layer— I should feel major gratitude!

"Say, this is the regular size cuff," he said, reading the box. "I wonder if I need the extra large. Maybe we should exchange it."

Drugstore not near Dollar Tree. Carbon again.

"Hmm," I said noncommittally. He's no Arnold. "I'll be right back with those batteries. But first, I'll just try the vacuum head."

New head fit old wand but wouldn't suck close enough to the baseboards. And it turned out to have wheels so it wouldn't slide left and right. Wrong wrong wrong! Now I was out $17.32. However, I could take it back when I bought the right batteries.

The forgotten word: Refund

"I give you credit for $12," said Mr. Gloom, impassive as a Buddha.

"What?" I screeched.

"Okay, maybe credit for $16."

"Credit?" I barked. "Credit? I want my money back! The whole $17.32!"

He considered this for a long while. "Well, OK." Then he counted out my money.

Only a short line at the Dollar Tree and home to Jim, who loaded the batteries and wound the cuff around his normal-manly arm. He squeezed the bulb. Squeezed again. But no matter how often he restarted, reattached, rewrapped and squeezed, the LED screen lit up only halfway.

"Well, that explains why some poor sucker has already filled out the warranty," Jim said. He showed me where some guy had carefully printed out his name, address and phone number. Even his e-mail.

"We'll take it back right now," I said. "You can use the cuff there next to the pharmacy counter." Another carbon two-fer, but they were sure adding up. I had already made the grocery run that morning. I backed the car out of the garage for the fourth time that day.

One other thing

"Have you seen my glasses?" Jim called from the house. Even though, even though I'm not allowed to touch his glasses, ever ever. This morning he had gazed into the fridge, looking for the maple syrup. Later, he asked me what I'd done with his business notebook (which he found tucked into his briefcase). Before that, his special woolly socks. The recent New Yorker.

Jim has decided that this medical procedure is the perfect time to quit the stress of working and enjoy life. He walked into the drug store very slowly to keep the blood pressure down while I stood in line to return the gadget. This involved two clerks and special keys and delays from other customers and so on. He smiled when he passed me on the way to the car: 115 over 56. Great!

Probably not a good time to take my blood pressure. I do it once a month when I need a good scare. And when I can take time off from teaching Home Management 101. ïµ