Let Me Buy an Xbox One

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I want an Xbox One, and I have the money to buy one. But thanks to women, the world is never that simple. I’m a grown man, but I’m also married. Those two things cancel each other out. As part of a couple, my money is now “our” money, which really means it’s my wife’s money. It doesn’t matter that I’m the one who pays the bills and has all the passwords to our bank accounts. If I spent a chunk of currency without Lola’s explicit permission, there would be consequences. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’d sleep by myself for the rest of my life. That would probably happen no matter what I did with our money. A woman can only let me knock her up so many times before she finally learns her lesson. The more likely scenario is that if I went rogue, my wife would also make a large, unnecessary purchase to teach me a lesson. If I showed up with an Xbox One, she’d come home with a $2.6 million Bugatti Veyron. I’d be fine with that if she let me drive it once in a while, but she’s not good at sharing.

Revenge is a dish best served at 254 mph.
Lola’s retaliatory spending spree would bankrupt us, and then we’d have to sell the kids. That would be a tragedy on many levels. I’d have to post an ad on Craigslist, which is such a hassle, and then I’d have to meet a bunch of gypsies in a McDonald’s parking lot. I don’t have that kind of time built into my schedule, and besides I hate introducing myself to new people. The better solution is to convince my wife to let me get an Xbox One so punitive measures aren’t necessary. Here are the irrefutable reasons why I absolutely must buy Microsoft’s latest gaming system. After Lola reads this, she’s sure to cave in – unless she drives off in her Bugatti Veyron first.

It would make me a better man.
People are nothing more than the sum of their material goods. Logically, owning better stuff would make me a better human being. But without the latest electronic gadgets, I’m doomed to be a subpar husband and lackluster parent. The thin line between a deadbeat dad and the father of the year is an Xbox One. Before Lola shoots me down, she should think of the children.

It would be a gift for the whole family.
Sure, I would be the one who actually used it, but Lola and the kids could watch me play it any time they wanted – unless the game was rated for people 17 and over. Then only the kids could watch. They’re one and three years old now, so they can finally appreciate the nuances of gratuitous violence. My wife, however, is a massive buzzkill when it comes to carnage rendered in 1080p. Curse her “feelings” and “common sense.”

It would help me fit in with my friends.
Peer pressure doesn’t go away at the end of high school. My buddies transitioned from the Xbox 360 to the Xbox One, and if I don’t blindly follow them, I’ll be left behind. The only people who put up with me now are the ones who befriended me way back when I was still able to hide my terrible personality for short bursts of time. If I lost this group of friends in the console switch, I’d never trick another group of men into tolerating me again. Instead, I’d have to spend more time with my wife, which is a fate she should do anything to avoid.

As for the age-old cliché , if my friends jumped off a bridge, of course I would, too. If just one guy plummeted, it could be an isolated suicide, but once multiple people took the plunge, I could only assume they knew something I didn’t. Maybe the bridge was on fire and I hadn’t noticed yet. I’d hate to watch my friends take the potentially life-saving dive into the water below while I burned alive in the middle of the roadway. That’d be excruciatingly painful and mildly embarrassing.

Anyone who repeats that bridge platitude promotes slow reflexes and poor situational awareness.
It would help me stay in touch with my family.
My brothers live in different parts of the country. We’re far too manly to ever call each other on the phone, but we might make idle small talk while we kill things together in an online game. This is about bringing us together while blowing digital monsters apart. I don’t know why Lola refuses to recognize the bonding power of violence.

I’m going to get one eventually.
Lola and I both agree on this. I think it will be in the next week. She thinks it will be 20 years from now when I can pick one up at a garage sale for a quarter. Waiting has diminishing returns. The console may cost more now than it will next year, but I can offset the difference by selling my wife’s prescription medication. She won’t need all the pills the doctor plans to give her after she gives birth. This communal property thing works both ways.

The graphics are better.
If it doesn’t look as realistic as possible when I shoot things, then I don’t know why I even live in America. The next Call of Duty game better give me post-traumatic stress disorder.

If I make it to level 60, I expect a full military pension and a spot on a float in the Memorial Day parade.
The TV says I should buy one.
Commercials can’t lie. It’s against the law. If a highly paid spokesperson tells me that buying an Xbox One is the best decision I could ever make, then I’m required by the Constitution to believe him.

Corporations love me and need my help.
If I don’t buy an Xbox One to support Microsoft, then Sony will win the console wars. That would make Bill Gates really sad. After all the happiness I derived from the Xbox and Xbox 360, abandoning my caring corporate overlords now seems like a dick move.

When my wife reads these logical, well-researched arguments, she’s sure to let me drop $500 on a gaming system I’ll probably only play once a week. It might seem impossible that she’d fall for it, but she has a history of believing my highly implausible lies. After all, she did agree to marry me.