Tips and tools from an elementary school Literacy Coach
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Indecision: our sofa adventures
So my hunny and I have recently taken to inhabiting the same domicile. That is, he moved in. And we're very very happy.
One of the reasons we're very very happy is cleaning. For me, cleaning = something I do when I have nothing else to do or something I do when it's absolutely necessary = rarely.
For him, cleaning = something to do when it needs to be done = frequently.
So I'm cleaner now.
Laundry is another bonus. (Except for the socks I keep finding on the den floor.) And his technology skills are handy to have around.
Oh, yeah. And since I love him, I do like to be with him a lot.
Those are the things we're happy about. There are other things, though. Things we're 'happy' about.
*We're 'happy'that we rearranged my furniture and found places for his stuff.
*We're 'happy' that now, instead of my pretty cream comforter with off-white pinstripes, we have a poop-brown comforter on my bed. (For the cat, hunny, he said. To make her comfortable.)
*We're 'happy'that he spent the afternoon stapling cables up around my our den ceiling so we can have surround sound which I don't care about. Which means we're also 'happy'that he put up five speakers in a small room to explode my brain.
We're incredibly 'happy'about all of those things.
I know that sounds like I'm not really happy, but we are actually very happy. And those things that aren't my favorite, but are his favorite, are just part of the territory of loving someone who isn't your clone.
Having a non-clone hunny requires you to be an adult instead of a child. Specifically, it requires you to C.O.M.P.R.O.M.I.S.E.
Yes, compromise. Such as you give a little and I give a little, and before we know it, we've reached a beautiful compromise that we both hate equally. This is happening right now with our own personal Indecision 2012: The Great Sofa Search.
My hunny is a picky pants. By this, I mean he has a perfectly good sofa and loveseat, which my bottom enjoy very much. However, he doesn't enjoy them for the following reason: "I don't fit."
"What do you mean, you don't fit? I can see you fitting right now."
"Yes, but I don't fit right. Cause the armrests aren't smushy enough so I have to use a pillow and now I don't fit anymore."
I looked at him on the couch. He fit. He was using up the space between the armrests and didn't seem to require additional space. To me, that means he fit. That's what fit means. Look it up.
"You fit. You're fitting. You've fitted."
"No. I don't fit. Can we get new couches?"
Oh Lord. Decision time. Now we have to compromise.
I prayed we'd get lucky. I prayed we'd magically happen on a perfect couch that would match beautifully with the style of the house and provide the 'fit' he was looking for. We set off to our first furniture store optimistically, expecting to be pleasantly surprised.
We have since visited five different stores. We walked through New Deal, Furniture Row, Ashley, National Furniture Liquidators, and another store that neither of us can remember. (We must've blocked it out.) I can summarize this lame adventure with a few phrases.
- Nope. Poop brown.
- Nope. Arm rests aren't squishy.
- Nope. Looks like the eighties.
- Nope. Too narrow.
- Nope. Sticky fabric.
- Nope. Hate it.
My hunny's problems are due to comfort. For him, it's Comfort, with a capital C. He doesn't look at a sofa; he feels it. He pokes all the armrests before he sits down to make sure that they will be squishy enough for his dainty head. He smooshes down into the cushion to tell if frame is going to be hard. He lays down in the store to make sure he 'fits'.
My problems are far more logical, I'm sure you'll agree.
I like pretty things.
I don't like ugly things.
Most comfy sofas are ugly. Poop brown, eighties style, and another indescribable quality I refer to as "Ew."
So we're at a bit of an impasse. I'm not really sure what should happen here. I think I should win. But I'm an adult now, so.... I may have to let him think he won before I actually win. You know, compromise.