A match made in a mental hospital.
Sometimes it occurs to me that Erik and I are really bad at fighting because we don't do it that often. And we don't fight that often because we always seem to agree on big things like politics and priorities and what have you. This can sometimes make things boring, and as I mentioned, when something really big does come up, we have had little-to-no practice and resort to childish means like cussing and saying things like, "I wish we weren't having Christmas AT ALL."
I was contemplating how agreeable we can be on the drive home tonight, and a snippet of a conversation from a few minutes earlier popped into mind. We were talking about trying to find plain-looking appliances that were enamel, rather than textured plastic or stainless, lest they look ridiculous in our little old house. This way, we could use enamel-y paints and fix them up however we want. Erik had done some appliance-store-hopping earlier in the day, and had found an enamel fridge.
I then asked him, "so, we can paint it yellow?"
Erik said, "yeah."
Okay. Let's pause for a minute.
WTF, mate. Who wants to paint a fridge yellow?
And why are there two of us?
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