So remember how once upon a time, we had a
ridiculously ugly couch that my children slashed with knives and the dogs puked on and how I was so very tired of furniture which looked better out on my lawn than in my house that I stupidly allowed my husband to purchase a leather couch with no wifely supervision?
And now, in my small living room there sits an oversized, overstuffed, hideously coloured sectional couch. A new couch that may actually look
worse than the original piece of crap we were trying to replace.
So ya. I still have that couch. And 18 months later it is still ugly. And slightly uncomfortable, although that just may be my broken down old back screaming at me and not an actual reflection of this monstrous couch. Everything is uncomfortable when your back is not bendy.
My husband insists I've been not so passively aggressively punishing him ever since he bought that ugly couch. Of course, I will absolutely admit (
and have already) to punishing him when I purchased
my chair. But in my defense, this is a chair worthy of purchasing. It is beautiful. It is comfortable. It scares my aging father and small children alike.
It is the BEST. CHAIR. EVER.
I love this chair. It makes me happy. As long as no one is sitting in it. Because if you are sitting in the chair then I can't appreciate the fully awesome power of its upholstery. This chair isn't furniture. It's art.
My husband calls it the bane of his existence.
Whatever. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.
But after purchasing
my chair to make up for
his couch, things reached a stale mate. I no longer felt the need to adjust the balance of the furniture scales because in my mind they were fully balanced.
And really, who ever wins in a furniture war? Besides me, that is?
But Boo, he is convinced I'm out to get him with my decorating tastes. In his twisted mind, I've got nothing better to do than think of new and creative ways to torture him with tchotchkes and knick-knacks and colour schemes.
If I didn't know better I'd tell him he needs to adjust his tin foil hat.
But here's the thing. I've got
years worth of evidence to prove to him that I've always had a bizarre decorating palate. Only he was too distracted by my cute face and small arse to notice.
What does it say about him that he's just now noticing my taste for the bizarre? (Let's gloss over what it's saying about the size of my bum, shall we?)
I mean, when we first started dating my entire bedroom was a shrine to Elton John and John Wayne. I was 16. I surrounded myself with images of an arthritic cowboy and a flamboyant queen. The only thing that would have made my room any cooler was if I could have gotten my hands on some life sized statues of my boys and posed them together.
And then there was the time I hung my husband's taxidermied deer head over our headboard and wrapped Christmas lights around its antlers. Because I needed a night light.
I'm not a stranger to strange. Which means, neither is my husband since we've been together for so darn long.
I mean he didn't blink when he came home to find this in our bathroom:
What else was I supposed to do with an empty Crystal Head vodka bottle?
Nor did he twitch when the UPS man delivered this:
My brother likes my cookie jar. Because he has taste.
Okay, so he did dig in his heels when he walked in the door and saw these staring back at him, but I can only presume he was only upset about them because he wanted to purchase them as a gift for me and I went and stole his thunder:
There is nothing weird about paper mache animal busts hanging over an ugly couch. Nothing at all.
But he also freaked out when I put up a crucifix made of dead people's faces, a plaster statue of a dead Chicken Little and put an actual alligator head in my living room. And yet, I'm positive he'd miss them all if they disappeared. Just like I know he'd miss the creepy little tribal statue I keep at the front door, the bong I bought in Mexico because I thought it would look awesome on our dresser (and IT DOES) and the collection of human teeth I have framed in our closet. (It's not weird. It's our kids' baby teeth. I'm not completely creepy. Sheesh.)
He's even grown fond of the dead gopher earrings I like to wear on our date nights.
I still think I need a dead bird head necklace to match my earrings, Boo.
Okay, maybe
fond is too strong a word.
Still. I think I've proven my point. My tastes, albeit strange, have always been so.
Which is why, I want it on record that my latest purchase which was delivered earlier today, was not in any way, an attempt to annoy or anger him.
I just figured the spot above the flat screen television he bought even though I asked him not to because our old television worked just fine, looked a little empty.
So Boo, when you come home and see this staring back at you every time you go to turn on the television, just know I was filling a decorating hole.
I'd have hung a real moose head above the television, but damn, those suckers are BIG.
Just think of how awesome he's going to look wearing a Santa's hat during the holidays.
And maybe be grateful that I couldn't find a life sized statues of Elton John and John Wayne to bring home. Because I totally looked for them.
