September

Whenever my husband casually says, “Hey, hon, come take a look at this Web site,” I know it’s going to cost me. All of our largest purchases have been preceded by my being summoned to his computer in this manner. So when he says this a few weeks before his birthday, I knew it’s really going to cost me, and I don’t mean just financially.

“Check this out,” he says, pointing. “Isn’t it cool?”

I glance at the Ford E-350 on his screen. It looks like the sort of vehicle that shuttles retirees to the local mall. “Kind of,” I reply.

He frowns and says, “It’s not just any old van. It’s a camper. It would be perfect for us. You said you wanted to see the West.”

I do want to see the West, in theory anyway. In fact, seeing the West was one of the reasons we moved with our nine-year-old son, Ben, to California. But travel takes so much planning, and as I’ve gotten older I’m increasingly less willing to tolerate discomfort: the crowds, the traffic, everybody trying to reach the same place at the same time.

His fingers pound at the keyboard. “It’s got captain’s seats.”

“What’s a captain’s seat?”

“That means it’s very, very comfortable.”

“Nice,” I say, getting back to my book.

Ten minutes later, he says, “I’m going to get one for us.”

“Us?” I say.

“Yes, us—you know, you and me?”

The subtext being: Aren’t you lucky you married a man who wants to buy a family van as his midlife-crisis vehic...