I broke two major rules writing this column. First, as a journalist, I should never create the stories I report. Second, as a husband, I should never — and this is a far more serious violation - purchase a home accessory on my own.

But in need of a column topic, I headed to a poster store in search of the perfect item to royally piss off my wife, Gina — and thus give me something to write about. Needless to say, I returned home with a life-size cardboard cutout of Sylvester Stallone as Rocky. (Actually, Sly is 5'7", but the cutout is 5'11". Most of us exaggerate two inches on cardboard reproductions of ourselves, but four inches!)

"Gina, you're going to love what I bought," I said, as I bounded into the apartment with the Italian Stallion under my arm. "We'll put it in the dining room and get rid of that cabinet you found in the neighbor's trash and have spent the last two years refurbishing."

I wish I were a good enough writer to describe the look on my wife's face. Let's just say it was not the look of a woman who saw any reason to go on. Nor was it the look of a woman curious which "Rocky" film the cutout was taken from. Rather, it was the look every husband dreads, the one that says, "Could I really have been so profoundly wrong about this man?"

"You don't like it?" I asked, as the opening bell sounded.

"I don't even want it here temporarily," Gina responded, sending me reeling. (These words, my wife well knew, were the exact ones she'd used to refer to something a lot more important to me the first time I'd tried to have sex with her.)

"But it's kitsch," I weakly jabbed, only to be countered with, "What are you, a college freshman?" Against the ropes and fading fast, I struck back with all I had: "Having Rocky in our home will remind us that if we persevere, we can achieve our dreams." Gina swatted that line away as if it were a mosquito, saying, "Let's persevere and carry Rocky to the dumpster."

Barely standing and ready to throw in the towel, I pleaded, "Don't be mad, it was only $20." (Actually, $32.97). "I'm not mad," Gina replied. "You just had a little lapse of judgment. We can wait until tomorrow to throw it out." She then patted me on the head and stuck a pacifier in my mouth.

But this bout still had a couple of rounds left. First, my friend Rob made an unexpected visit and, sensing a prank was on, said, "Wow, that Rocky is great."

Then, as I had arranged, my mother-in-law called. And as expected, Gina began telling her about Rocky. Before I could do anything to stop her, Gina's mom - a woman with typically sophisticated taste - stated, just as we had rehearsed, "Well, I think a Rocky life-size cutout is very cool."

This one-two punch was too much for Gina. In bed later, she asked, "Am I being a shrew? I really don't want to be the kind of wife who doesn't let you have your own things."

I started to feel terribly guilty about the whole thing. After all, couldn't I have just written about "Joe Millionaire"? And so I told Gina the truth. Luckily, she took her rage out on Rocky. Climbing out of bed, she started humming the "Rocky" theme, and then walked up to Sly and began wailing away. When I woke up the next morning, Rocky stood a not-so-proud 4'9".

(Mark Bazer can be reached at mebazer@yahoo.com.)

(C) 2003 MARK BAZER, DISTRIBUTED BY TRIBUNE MEDIA SERVICES, INC.