Two days ago, Dave and I had an impassioned argument over Hawaiian shirts. That’s right. Hawaiian shirts.
I know (or hope) we are not the only couple who has silly fights. What’s the craziest thing you’ve fought about?
I loathe Hawaiian shirts. Their bright colors and large flowers screaming Look At Me. In fourth grade I had to answer the question of what I would do if I was queen. Back then I said I would have oatmeal every day (I know, dream big, right?) If I answered the question again right now I would ban Hawaiian shirts everywhere except Hawaii. If you visit Hawaii, you can rent a Hawaiian shirt, but you can’t take it home with you. That’s my rule and I'm queen, remember?
Or, if you’re like my husband and you worked as a water park supervisor for years and your faded green Hawaiian shirt has sentimental value, you should take a picture and be done with it—not wear it out in public where you will embarrass your wife with your obnoxious flower-print shirt. I’m getting all riled up again just thinking about it.
I am probably the least sentimental person I know (except maybe my mother). Every six months I purge my house of whatever we haven’t used and is taking up space. I arm myself with my goodwill trash bag and take up my battle with clutter. And, by golly, that Hawaiian shirt is standing between me and victory.
Hey, that sounds pretty good… Maybe I’ll bring that up tonight since the Hawaiian shirt fight remains at a standstill.