It can't be a normal obsession, can it? Like, where he decorates his workshop from ceiling to floor with his favourite football team colours of green and white? Or an addiction like gambling, where at least once in a while, he excitedly wins big and we all get taken out for dinner? I'd even settle for building and flying those remote-controlled airplanes, like an ex-boyfriend of mine did. (I think I'd draw the line at a video game addiction. It would drive me crazy to have him in the house and lying around on the couch like that.)
No. My guy has a Farm Auction addiction. Go ahead and laugh, but I see this serious affliction as having extraordinary ramifications. For starters, when I look around the auction, I see clearly what B.Rube is rapidly becoming - an old, balding and hard-working man with a paunch, overalls with a permanently indented circular tin of chew in his back pocket and a checkered flannel shirt, even in the dead heat of summer. The more he hangs out at this place, the more his destiny appears to be wrapped up. Or, should I say... OUR destiny. yikes.
And then there's the issue of the animals. The ever-increasing variety of farm animals. Today it was 3 Bard Rock pullets and 2 young Guinea hens. You see, like an alcoholic sitting in a bar or a gambler sitting in a casino, B.Rube can not attend the Farm Auction without buying something. As if baseball, hockey, golf and working around the farm wasn't enough... This week, he attended the auction on Wednesday, as well as Saturday. The auctioneer and owner call him by name now.
I see the need for a Farm Auction Anonymous support group. If they held it AT the auction itself and were able initially to subliminally infiltrate the minds of the afflicted Gatherers-of-Fucking-Animals, they might be able to actually talk some sense into these guys.
What would it take to deter them? Apparently, the lack of support and encouragement from their wives don't do it.