THE ESTROGEN PAGE

A couple of years ago at Pocono (yes it was May and yes it was raining) a fable was perpetuated that was so audacious that it competes easily with those intriguing e-mail invitations for breast enhancement, penis power and Emmy Lou with her farm animals. The fable, as told by our favorite Aesop, declares that the monetary value of any box no matter the size, no matter the weight, no matter the shape, no matter the condition, that arrives with never-ending regularity at a racers doorstep is fifty bucks!

Now, I don’t know about you but if I ever thought in my wildest dreams that “He-Who-Must-Race” paid fifty bucks for a set of fuel pump gaskets I would have no recourse but to speed directly to my favorite jeweler and order something that would fit snugly in an identically shaped box.  And just to be fair, I would take the very same box the gaskets came in, present it to the jeweler and just tell him to “fill it up”!   But I digress. The point of today’s lesson is that I have come to believe in the fifty buck box and I’ll tell you why.

Through the years we have worn out literally dozens of UPS, Fed-Ex and USPS personnel – so many, in fact, that the route our house is on has been labeled the DMZ (dead metal zone).  I’m not sure how often any of these drivers bid for a route but it sure seems like every few weeks a new face is lugging out the hand-truck, loading it up with a variety of fifty buck boxes and then cursing our front steps.  Well excuse me, but just how heavy can a box be if it only costs fifty bucks?  And, as a matter of fact, they have the easy job. I’m usually the one that has to get each of these fifty buck treasures into the house because “He-Who-Must-Race” plans his business trips for those days that he’s pretty certain something that only costs fifty bucks is due to arrive.

For those of you who compete against “He-Who-Must-Race” let me take this opportunity to give you a heads up on what you can expect from the mighty 510 (which, by the way, only cost fifty bucks a few years ago) this season…and please keep it hush-hush because, well, you know you’re not supposed to know all this stuff.  First, he has a brand new fifty buck engine, an imported fifty buck tranny (obviously the cost included shipping fees), he has four new fifty buck tires but that’s OK because they came in separate boxes and were delivered on different days. He made a helluva deal on a fifty buck differential to add to his collection and I am pretty sure he now has the complete set. And just so you don’t think that his savvy purchasing is confined to car parts, he got himself a really handsome new fifty buck helmet to match his new regulation fifty buck racing shoes that also matches his new fifty buck driving gloves.  The only problem now is he can’t find a balaclava to match everything else so I volunteered to go out and buy fifty bucks worth of dye.

I have become so impressed with the business acumen demonstrated by “He-Who-Must-Race” that I have made it my business this winter to test my own powers.  I’m really proud to report that the fifty buck pricing structure is alive and well on my side of the Chateau. When you visit us this summer you’ll see a complete set of antique wicker furniture for the veranda that costs a mere fifty bucks. As soon as the ground thaws, a fifty buck back hoe will arrive to begin the installation of a fifty buck reflecting pool complete with 2 snowy egrets that will delivered separately for only fifty bucks for the pair.  I’m still in negotiations for the fifty buck cascading water fall. While I’m pretty excited about the fifty buck hand-made Tiffany stained glass insert for the front door I found, I think I am most proud of the fifty dollar green house that will double as a bird sanctuary because it will stand about fifty feet tall when finished. I thought a buck a foot was a helluva deal!

Now we all know that all good fables end with a moral and what with all the talk about economic decay, an uncertain future, Enron, creative auditing practices and the like, the moral of our story is simple…if you can’t beat ‘em, one-up ‘em!