Couches

It's so fun to finally get a chance to spend copious amounts of money! Oh wait, we already did that recently. Anyhow, couch shopping turns out to just be a sort of mini house shopping experience. S feels passionately about microfiber couches, and I feel passionately that anything that S likes is probably irrational and motivated out of a desire to punish me for original sin.

S: I like this tan one.
M: Oh it's just probably that time of the month.
S: What are you saying.
M: I don't know. I just love playing devil's advocate.

I didn't realize how passionately I felt about fabrics until we spent the better part of the first week of our marriage cleaning off a curduoroy (and yes, I spelled it wrong. And I have no idea how to fix it. But screw cuorduroy anyway for being such a hard word to spell) couch that two dogs had apparently been living on and inside. That thing was nasty. Ergo; I'm not really as opposed to the microfiber as I'd like to pretend. However, I am opposed to the idea that I can type a sentence about my preference for couch material without an ounce of irony.

Related proof that I might as well be thirty. Unsolicited age guessing over the past few years of my late twenties.

When I was 27.

You could pass for twenty five.
(blushing)

When I was 29.

Are you twenty eight?
No twenty nine.

Unfortunately at this rate the future looks like so.

Age 32

Oh you could totally pass for thirty four if the light was low.
(depression setting in).

We've also been encouraged to not buy a cheap piece of furniture but it's crazy to actually be embracing the idea. I mean, students throw these things away at the end of every school year and here we are spending a significant amount of money on a new one? Crazy? Yes. Stupid? Yes. I got nothing else.

S: I think I've decided on which couch I want.
M: I can tell you right now that I don't like that couch.
S: I haven't even told you which one.
M: It's not my fault that the good Lord blessed me with a Frank Lloyd Wrightesque sense of style.
S: Do you have anything to contribute or do you just want to shi- on my ideas?
M: Can't it be both?

Anyhow, we legitimately spent seven hours shopping for couches without finding a damn thing. Most people's taste is abominable, particularly in the burbs. I never realized how much I dislike other people's taste until I saw what they keep in stock at these large furniture stores. I can't even begin to describe to you the level of depression you feel walking around looking at all this crappy furniture and knowing that someone is going to buy it.
Aside: Yes, it is sort of elitist to judge other people's taste. And typical of a city person to judge someone from a smaller town. Someone queue "east coast liberals/wall street main street. However, I would argue that seven in ten people would walk around in the store with me and not find one good thing. I'll grant you that seven out of the ten people would be big city folk with a healthy distaste for overstuffed, but I think any good science experiment is conducted with none of the variables controlled. This may not be true.

In which S and I have a protracted argument about whether to buy certain pieces of furniture.

M: I guess I just don't want our house to look like a dorm room.
S: What else are you suggesting?
M: I'm suggesting that we buy something classically stylish.
S: Like what specifically?
M: I don't have specifics. I have vague ideas for improvements that I dispense freely right before we make a purchase.
S: That's helpful.
M: do you mean that? (childish light in eyes).

We finished yet another day couchless, but we learned something about each other. Mainly we learned that no matter how many decisions you make as a couple, it's still kind of a pain in the ass to pick something out with a spouse. You have developed your own unique and beautiful taste and you can't see why that idiot you chose to marry, date, live with can't accept the blindingly apparent truth that you are right. It's hard when you both are so blindingly correct to find common ground. I'm thinking we should each just go out and buy our own separate couch and then have friends come over and vote on them.

Note: If you don't pick mine you are not welcome back in our home...ever.