So, as I've learned over this weekend, the B.F. and I can not, I repeat, can not merge decorating tastes. Not only do we look alike, but we are both stubborn know-it-alls. I'll admit it. I am. And I also take things a bit too far now and then. At times I try and edit my personality, but I can't quite cut it.
We needed to return a gift from Christmas so we headed to Pier 1.
(Disclaimer: Neither of us were good moods at this point. He was racing in Cleveland Heights on a Saturday afternoon. This doesn't happen. It can't happen when you have Saturday drivers. I then close my eyes and wait until we we are at our destination. In his mind, he's the perfect driver. In mine, I think I'm going to die and can't fathom that because I have one too many things to do in this life yet. Therefore, I bitch at his driving skills.)
When we get to Pier 1, he returns the product, walks up to me and says, "Pick something out you want."
What I hear: (I don't want to be here long, so let's make this as painless as possible.)
I casually browse through each aisle looking for something to fit in our-yet-be-decided motif. (We have couches and a media stand. I'd hardly call that a style.)
I can't pick anything out. I'm not in the mood for decorating because we need so many items. I'm overwhelmed and interested in everything I see. I find these circular tea light candles holders that are a distressed gold color, plus 50 freaking percent off! Who could argue! I pick up a few and am thinking of putting them on the dining table with a runner underneath it. (I particularly like gold/cranberry/rich browns and muted oranges as a color scheme.) I pick out what is a bad example of the table runner and he says, "Allison, you can't make everything in the apartment shabby chic."
Me: Shabby chic?
B.F.: Yes, Shabby chic.
Me: (Instantly angry because a) he was mocking my taste and b) he clearly didn't know his designers because those candle holders were the furthest thing from shabby chic.)
Some other kind words were exchanged with him walking out of the store and me standing there still thinking my candle holders were pretty cool. So, I put them back down in the basket and casually walk out to the car where the B.F. is pouting.
When I get in the car, he says with a smirk, "No gold candle holders?" I glared at him and replied "no."
We bickered the rest of the night and onto the next morning. Seriously, we were indirectly fighting over distressed gold candle holders that were 50 percent off. At least we both realized it. He wanted to make a pact, "If I stopped being a bitch, he'd stop being a dick."
We did learn one valuable lesson. Guess we shouldn't try agreeing on any other decorations for the apartment -- or at least not any candle holders at the moment.