boys and their toys

I came downstairs to find him sitting in the dark, hours past his normal bed time. The lone light in the room beamed from the screen of his laptop and shined ethereally on his face, which was twisted in concentration as he peered at what had captured his attention onscreen. Unblinking, his brain was sending rapid fire signals to his hand to click the mouse and move from screen to screen.

"Honey, it's late. What are you doing?" I asked my husband.

Startled from wherever it was he had been within the computer, he shot me a nervous look and acted quickly, but subtly, to twist the laptop from my view. The move, I admit, made me nervous. In my head, I began formulating the words I needed to say to let him know I understood, that I loved him, and that we'd get through this together. Stronger. Happier.

"Are you looking at porn?" I asked, my head rushing with thoughts of all I needed to say next. That it was OK, that we could talk and get through this if he'd just open up to me.

"It's not porn," he said quickly, but quietly, turning the computer from me just a bit more. "I swear to you. It's not porn."

Unable to fathom what he'd want to hide, I moved closer and watched as his expression seemed to resign itself with a mask of shame and fear. Closer still, my hand ready to rest on his shoulder, I heard music and random, unexplainable sounds coming from his computer.

"You swear it's not porn?" I asked, giving him one last chance to come clean with me. When he didn't answer, my gaze shifted from his - which had now settled downward to avoid my own - to the computer screen. My eyes widened as on it, I watched a tiny animated pug outfitted in a bandanna and dark sunglasses danced around a room decorated with a bed, sandcastle and balloon bouquet.

"It's Webkinz, OK?!" my husband cried. "It's Webkinz, not porn! I didn't want you to find out, but I'm not doing this for me! I'm doing it for the kids! Scruffy the Pug's favorite food is pancakes and I'm trying to earn enough points at Quizzy's Question Corner so I can visit the store and buy him some, and Goldie the Golden Retriever? He wants a trampoline and they're on sale today, but I need to earn more points by playing this hamburger match-up puzzle before I can go get it.

As if the weight of the world had been lifted from my husband's shoulders, he unleashed his confession to me, his voice raising as his excitement grew. "Let me tell you, it's practically a job, all this work I'm going through, but I want to do this so I can be sure Scruffy and Goldie's happiness meters go up."

"Honey?" I interrupted. "Speaking of jobs and happiness meters going up, any chance you wanna maybe log off and pretend you were watching porn? With me? Upstairs?"

"Maybe later," he replied, his guilt-free eyes turned back to the computer screen which was now fully on display. "Another round of fifth grade level trivia questions and I can pay for a window for Scruffy's room."

I turned to go back upstairs, but turned back to give him the answer for one of the trivia questions. Why not? I want Scruffy, the animated bandanna wearing, dark sunglass dancing pug, to be happy as much as the next 39 year old man playing with his kids' toys.

"You know, if this becomes a problem for you, you can tell me," I said. "We'll be OK."

"Pancakes, honey. I'm just buying pancakes."

Which is just how I suspect addictions start.