I have a sneaking suspicion that my husband's one joy in life, the one thing that gets him out of bed every morning, the one thing that fills his heart with joy, is driving me absolutely fucking out of my mind crazy. I think he has amused himself the past 10 years by slowly watching me get twitchier and spazier. I imagine he probably has a few bets down on when the final snap will occur.

Case in point:

We have this dining room table. It's a pretty, antiquey number made from a cherry-ish colored wood. It's been in his family for a while and while we are slowly destroying all it stands for with mashed bananas and chocolate milk stains, we really do like it. It's fancy, and nice.

It has two leaves with it that expand it from a 4 seating or cozy 6 seating table to, I imagine, a ten seating table. We only have 4 dining room chairs, and our chairs are kind of specific and not-so-easy to come by, so I imagine we will only ever have 4 chairs, at least until I get sick of them and buy new ones. Since the baby will be high-chairing it for a while, and since we don't really know anyone to invite to dinner, I feel like we are okay with the four chairs and therefore don't need to put the leaves in that make the table enormous.

My husband begs to differ. He's really into big. Big tv's, big couches, big dictionaries, big macs, big tables. He could not care less that with the leaves in I cannot reach T's plate to cut his steak. It matters not to him that with the leaves in the table takes up every single inch of extra space in my kitchen-with-attached-dining-room. He is not worried in the least that my tablecloth will not reach the ends of the table with both leaves in. He wants those leaves in, goddamnit, and he will not rest until they are in there forever.

This has become a ridiculous passive-agressive sort of argument for us. In the month we have been in this house, I have removed them three times from the table. Mind you, he is only up with us, at the maximum, for one hour every day, and 45 minutes of that is spent in the bathroom showering and shaving and blowdrying his hair. He sits down at that table for maybe one meal a week, if we are lucky. Why on earth he cares about the leaves is beyond me. But he does. Does he EVER.

Tonight, while I was cleaning the bathroom, he was vacuuming the dining room for me. Which was super-nice. He shut all the lights off when he was done and headed off to bed. I went into the dining room after the bathroom was clean to get the dishes washed (maybe he thought that if he couldn't see them thanks to the dark that they would just give up and crawl into the dishwasher themselves) and low and behold, he had wiped down the table when he vacuumed under it. And put both of the leaves back in.

Mother. Fucker.

I am a nice woman, and very patient, but I swear to you I took those fuckers out, held them in my hand and walked towards the fireplace. We could use a nice fire tonight, right? It's cool enough out. It would be romantic.

Alas, I did not burn them. Yet. They are a family heirloom. J got a sternly worded warning, though. And if you start receiving cute little whittled figurines in the mail, you'll know who ultimately won this fight.