Phil reached into the trunk of his Honda Civic. He lifted the wide narrow package with the utmost care. He dare not drop his most recent purchase. He had never felt so proud of a purchase of any sort. He awkwardly held the package as he stepped on each of the flat stones leading to his front porch. He walked with a quicker pace than usual. There was a slight drizzle.
     He reached the front door and pushed it open. As he stepped inside the house he could hear the voice of his wife Becky talking on the phone in the kitchen. He moved into the living room and cautiously placed the package on the sofa. He walked back to the foyer closet and removed his coat. He stood in front of the closet door. He hung up his coat and he took off his shoes. He then heard Becky end her phone conversation. He walked back through the foyer and living room towards the kitchen.
    “Honey, I want you to see what I just bought,” he said.
     Becky appeared in the living room. She wore casual clothes and an expression of idle curiosity. Excited, he felt a need to follow up his remark with action. He leapt over to the sofa and placed his hand on the package.
    “This, my love, is art,” he said.
     All she saw was a wide narrow package covered with brown paper wrapping. The moment had come. It was time to unveil his prize possession. Although he enjoyed the idea of owning this piece of art, her opinion was important to him. This was an expensive painting. Her support of his purchase would solidify his positive feelings about his otherwise uncertain buying decision.
     He painstakingly removed the brown paper wrapping. Finally the oil painting was revealed. It now sat upright on the sofa. Phil stepped back and admired the way the light reflected off the darkest parts of the painting. It seemed to sparkle. He marveled at the precise detail. The several layers of paint created deep colors. It had taken the artist two months to complete. The quality of the painting was unquestionable, yet Phil’s pride hung in the balance.
     Phil looked over at his wife. He studied her face. She stood silently. She kept her eyes on the painting. This last observation psychologically prepared Phil for his next question.
    “What do you think?” he asked.
     There was a pause. Phil held his breath. He kept watching Becky as she looked at him and spoke.
    “Well, why does the road go through the church?” she asked.
     Phil turned back to the painting as if to find the answer. It portrayed a car driver’s view of a road that led through an immense doorway of an ancient gothic church. Phil had no answer. He resorted to honesty.
    “I don’t know,” he said “To be funny I guess.”
     He looked back at Becky. She was frowning at the painting. Did the painting bother her? Phil hoped his intuition was incorrect.
    “It’s interesting,” she said and headed back towards the kitchen.
    “You don’t like it,” he responded.
    “I didn’t say that,” she said from the kitchen.
    “Well I thought I’d hang it in the living room,” he said.
    “You better not,” she said.
     Phil was dumbfounded. This wasn’t the reaction he had hoped for.
    “I just spent three thousand dollars on a painting and you don’t like it,” he said.
     She walked back into the living room.
    “You spent how much on that painting?” she asked.
    “Three thousand dollars,” he said.
     There was a pause. The two stared at each other. Phil cracked first.
    “Don’t worry. Art holds its value. I mean, it’ll probably do better than that mutual fund we invested in,” he said, “I mean, can’t you see it’s a good painting?”
     She turned her attention back to the painting. It sat still on the sofa. Phil looked at the painting as well. The quality and content meant something to Phil. Phil looked back at Becky. Her frown had turned into a puzzled stare. She tried to understand the painting. Phil tried to understand her. Art.