Tales of Domesticity

My husband is so cheap he wants us to be trailer trash. We went blanket shopping on friday, and instead of the nice duvets, he was drawn to these fuzzy blankets whose patterns tended towards safari. Even the plain purple one made me think of the Trailer Park Boys. I convinced him to spend the extra 30 skeck on a duvet. Then looking for a shower curtain, we finally found some cheap ones. But instead of looking through the stack to find a half decent one, James, in his impatience to end the torture of shopping as soon as possible, grabs the one on top that would have only been appropriate if we had pulled up to the shop in a DeLorean. Again, veto power was employed and we agreed on a different pattern (but as a compromise, it was blue).

We have inherited a rather old microwave belonging to the apartment that has been encrusted with years of goo. In fact, the guy we are subletting from hasn’t used it at all; it is the previous tenant's shame. James felt we should clean it and use it. Actually, after a little Chicken elbow grease, it didn’t look too bad. All hail the house-husband!
Unfortunately, the dampness from cleaning made the number pad stop working so we were still up the creek for warming up last night’s leftovers. Blast. An hour later of drying, the top two rows of numbers work. By morning, it should work like a charm.