This year for Christmas, Andy and I decided that we would forgo getting each other traditional presents, and instead buy some new furniture and a new TV.
The furniture being my gift, although I apparently have to let everyone use it.
The television, even though we have a perfectly fine 46 inch flat screen hanging on our wall right, being Andy’s. I’ve learned to stop questioning his need for electronics. It must be similar to the way I need steamed pot stickers or Tyra Banks shows.
So, Christmas morning, we watched our children tear into gift after gift, as we sat empty handed (you know, except for joy, or whatever I’m supposed to say here), until I stealthily pulled a box from behind the couch. A gift for Andy. From the kids.
You see, I’m a way more thoughtful person than Andy is, especially on important days like the birth of Christ.
Of course, Andy has to be a giant douche and surprise me with a new laptop, from the kids.
I got him headphones.
We all know I spent last week drunk ordering furniture, which came a few days ago and…ugh.
Apparently what happened was, Andy ended up selecting and ordering the set, because I got distracted by a giant white statue of the back half of a male horse.
Andy, I want this for my office.
But, it speaks to me. I feel inspired by it.
I’m not spending $300 for you to explain a giant white horse penis to our children.
Why is it always about race with you?
While I was busy mourning the loss of my statue, Andy ordered a sofa and chair. A gigantic black fake leather sofa and chair. I’m sure you’ve seen it before in, like, every guy movie ever made. You know, there’s this bachelor with some sleek apartment, probably with a Foosball table, a bar, a drawer of condoms and roofies, coasters with naked women on them, mirrors above the bed…and shiny black leather couches.
I call them Chris Angel couches, because I imagine they are made from his skin, and shined up with that stuff he puts in his hair. Plus they smell like Axe body spray and magic.
So now, in my very brown living room, I have black furniture that is so large, my feet don’t even touch the ground, and we had to remove the door framing just to get it in.
I imagine if they had at least been David Blaine couches, they would have just appeared in my living room, like, submerged in a giant fish tank all, did I just dazzle you with my illusion? And I’d be like, I’m sorry, I was watching a rerun of Ghost Whisperer why are all these cameras in my house?
What, you don’t like them?
I didn’t even say anything.
But, I can tell, you have that I just stepped in dog shit face right now.
What, you think because you bought un-returnable floor model fake leather black couches from the Yao Ming collection, that I’m mad? This is just my normal face, Andy.
You can’t even tell they’re fake.
I had pants made out of this in 1997. I wore them to a Spice Girls concert.
Ohhhh, like Dirty Spice?
Is this you coming on to me right now, because Dirty Spice doesn’t even sound sexy, it sounds like you’re telling me I smell like a homeless person.
It was tense Christmas.