Where I won't be at midnight

Well, I won't be in line at a book store picking up the final Harry Potter book, that's for sure. My sons never took to the young wizard and his quest. Fine with me, as long as the kids read something, I'm good.
If, in fact, the boys were gaga over those books, I would carry them off in the darkness and make sure we were among the first in line.
I've never been sure exactly where this yearning to get something right away came from. It's in the genes, maybe. But as Carrie Fisher once remarked, "The trouble with instant gratification is that takes too long.''
My wife, Sue, on the other hand is a patient sort, the sort of patience normally ascribed to saints. "It'll be there tomorrow,'' is her motto.
She could be wrong, for a couple of reasons.
In the first place, "it'' could well be sold out tomorrow, whatever "it'' happens to be, which is why I've hied myself off over the years to sleep on sidewalks to secure a place in line to get Springsteen tickets. Sue has always had a "que sera sera'' attitude toward hard-to-get seats. If I were a lesser man, I could well have said to myself, "Well, if that's how she feels, let her stay home when the concert rolls around. Why should I share the fruits of my labor with her? She didn't sleep on any sidewalk. And it makes no nevermind to her if she goes or not."
But I'm a Christian man, and kind-hearted.
In the second place, while "it'' may be there, surely the possibility exists that I won't -- "If I die before I wake'' and such -- and I have some experience in this regard, having dropped dead once, and so there's a certain urgency that obtains when something I want goes on sale at midnight.
But even those not possessed of a burning (possibly genetic) desire to own something when it hits the shelves can surely see that the journey to the front of the line is itself a destination, a festival of sorts, a fun community of like-minded strangers.
Unless, of course, you are married to my wife. She sees morons, including the one she wed.