On learning to compromise

I was having lunch with Anna, telling her about my Woes of the Week.

"He wants a sectional," I said. "A big, fatty, leather sectional. It will totally overwhelm the space. And I stick to leather in the summer. If there's one thing I know, it's that I didn't buy a house just to stick to the gigantic leather couch in the summer."

This wasn't the only design disagreement we'd been having. I pinned long and hard to come up with a color scheme I was totally in love with for what I'm calling Salon Neenuh. It involves light blue-green walls, neutral fabric furniture and blue and coral accents. He would prefer dark colors, like gray and brown and navy.

This really shouldn't surprise me any more, after nearly six years of being together. I first learned of our taste gulf when we were registering for wedding presents, and I was head over heels for a teal china pattern with BIRDS on it, and he wanted white with a single silver circle. I wanted the bold apple green mixer and he was adamant that we stick to the classic red or white. I wanted bright-bright-bright linens and he wanted brown. I married a monster.

And, I told Anna, he's desperate for a dog. I ticked off the reasons I don't want one:

• The vet bills. Dogs inevitably get ring worm and then cancer and then you have to pay for dog chemo and we just bought a house and how could we possibly afford that.
• The poop. Once you buy a dog you are then responsible for every piece of poop that comes out of its body.
• The shedding. I just spent an entire evening vacuum up the little white hairs the previous owners' best friend left EVERYWHERE-- like, they were even in the bathtub. 
• The noise. What if Pup decides my brother smells weird and it yaps its head off every time he comes over? Sam is related by blood (at least that's what we've been told); I can't just ban him from our house.
• The jealousy. What if we have a baby and then the dog gets jealous because we're not giving it enough attention and then it climbs into baby's crib and sits on baby's face AND KILLS OUR BABY?
• The poop. What if it's a fraidy-dog and I drop something because dropsy and it makes a loud noise and then the dog poops itself on our huge leather sectional?

Anna patiently refuted all my points and told me that I would love being a pet mama and that it would be great practice for being a real mama and that she would be our dog-sitter forever and always amen. And then she had a stroke of genius. I care about the furniture. Matt cares about the dog. I should use dog ownership as a bargaining chip to get him to cede decision-making capabilities.

Reader, that's what I did. And it totally worked. I look forward to inviting you to our humble abode this summer, where the yard will be poop-filled and the couches will be stick-free.