My husband thinks I'm weird. It's okay, though, because the feeling is entirely mutual.
In our house, it is considered perfectly normal to never, EVER play an entire song. No, in our house, you'll hear about two bars. Over and over again until the chords come out just so. If you're lucky, you might get the whole chorus. If you're me, you hear that same blasted lick five million times until you're ready to run naked and screaming into the street.
I haven't gotten to that point yet, but I've been close a few times. Close the blinds.
In exchange, Himself gets to deal with what he thinks of as my weirdness, which is an obsession for all things wool. Our house is insulated with yarn. There is knitting everywhere except the bathroom, because pointy sticks and dropped pants do not make for a pleasant day. The cupboard is crammed with vinegar and food coloring in case I decide to go on a mad dyeing spree. The garage contains bales of wool and smells like sheep.
This wool obsession extends to other things made of wool. I have an overwhelming urge to own a Navy pea coat. I fondle sweaters in the stores, trying to guess fiber content. When I learned of an Army surplus store opening here in town, I went on point.
"Take me there! I want a blanket!"
See, where there is Army surplus, there are usually Army blankets. They are scratchy. They are a shade of green that goes with nothing, not even other Army blankets. They are made of wool and warmer than a planetary core.
Giving the other cool and groovy stuff a quick glance, I zeroed in on the one and only wool blanket left in stock. Himself's internal weird-meter shot off the scale.
"Why are you buying a blanket?"
"Because it's a WOOL blanket. Wool blankets are super warm."
"You have wool all over the house. Why don't you knit one?"
"It would take forever and it wouldn't be the same. This is perfect."
"It's sixty degrees outside!"
I stared at him. How could he not be getting this concept? It was a WOOL BLANKET. "Yes, it is. And since there will never, ever be another January or December, I will never have to stock up on cold-weather supplies. Right?"
Himself stifled a snort with only partial success. "Oh, okay. Do you want a parka, too? He's got a nice woodstove over there."
"Go ahead and scoff. Next winter, when it's a thousand degrees below zero, you're going to wish you had a nice wool blanket. Tough luck for you, 'cause I ain't sharing." I hugged the blanket to my chest and marched up to the register. The purchase was made, and we went back to the car. I gloated the entire way.
"I've got a BLAN-ket! I've got a BLAN-ket!"
Himself smiled in the way of patient spouses everywhere, then pulled the ace from his sleeve. "If you're happy, I'm happy. Now, let's go home. There's a chord in that one song that I need to work on."