Ricky, YOU'VE got the esplainin' to do!

It started as we were loading the dishwasher after dinner. Mir, said DH, since our expenses will really nosedive next year, I really think we should get on with planning a Christmas holiday. Then the magic words he knew would seal the deal: with the kids, of course. Sly old fox, my DH. He knows that time away with them, particularly when we have spirited them off to another continent, is a no brainer. Now throw in a gorgeous beach, beautiful weather, fancy private condo, all on a swanky island in the Caribbean....while the rest of Toronto digs out and shivers....and I remember why I married this guy. I like how he rolls.
OK. I'm in. But. I remind him the back deck is sinking a few more inches every year. I don't care, says he. And it's listing at about a 30 degree angle towards the house. I still don't care, says he. And the stain is peeling. Don't look, says he. And it looks like a condemned slummy parasitic appendage that was mistakenly plopped between our lovely home and the swimming pool. Cue the violins here. BOOOHOOOOhooo. Yes, I recognize this would fall under white girl problems.

But are we missing the bigger picture? He works. He earns. He decides. End of story. Or is it?

When we married, we each had paychecks, bank accounts, Visa cards, and nice taste. Now we still each have all the above, but since only one of us is financially remunerated, does that mean he also has veto power? I gave up my job, I did not have a lobotomy!
So I suggest he think it over. OK, says he. I did. And I think we are not doing the deck. I suggest he think it over some more...say...until he thinks he agrees with me about re-doing the deck. OK, says he, you know I always end up agreeing with you; All you have to do is see it my way. Stay tuned.