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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Decision Anonymous”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Fluorescents fizz. A circle of folding chairs. “Hi, I’m Richard—three months clean of choosing.” A few nod like dashboard bobbleheads; the coffee breathes in a styrofoam cup, apologetic. It started small: a couch. “Honey, which one?” she asked, palm on fabric. I blinked, surrendered—“Whatever you decide”— and felt the hinge of my life swing softly shut. Now dinner is a minefield with a smiley face. Mexican or Thai? I hedge like a bookmaker over menus laminated against panic. Paint samples arrive—fan of impossible birds— greige, whisper, oat, a colour called maybe. Curtains muscle in with their quiet threats. I agree to shades I never knew had names. My wife—brisk sovereign of the fork in the road— makes brisk law with a fingertip. I have been promoted to Chief Nodding Officer, Department of Yes. I provide soundtrack, laugh track, the hum behind the throne. But peace is a sly drug and I’m a willing patient. Silence lays a cool towel over the day. I hand her the keys, I pour the wine; the house, relieved, settles on its foundations. So here’s to Richard, who outsourced the storm and sleeps through the weather like a stone. Now pass the remote—no sudden moves— are we watching The Crown, or starting another war?
Alternative version
“Hi, my name’s Richard, and... it’s been three months since my last decision.” The room gasps, some nod, a few look with precision— Patting my back with a knowing sigh, The universal struggle: to choose or comply. It started small—“Honey, which couch should we buy?” I shrugged and mumbled, “Whatever you decide.” But that was the day I lost my say, And I’ve been dodging decisions ever since that day. Choosing where to eat? That’s a guaranteed fight! Paint colours? Forget it, I’m out like a light. My wife is the master, the CEO of choice, I’m just a supportive background noise. But hey, it’s peaceful, this decision-free life, Letting her steer as the co-pilot wife. So here’s to Richard, who’s learned to embrace A happy existence in the passenger’s place! (Now, someone pass me the remote... unless that’s a debate?)
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