My crazy husband. Let me show him to you.

I'll tell you all this right now: my husband is fucking insane.

He has... how shall I put this? A very on-again off-again relationship with reality. It isn't so much that he's lost his grip on The Real, but rather that he willfully chooses to ignore it, editing out select portions of The Truth Of How Things Are that don't exactly jibe with his wants and desires.

What do you call that? Selective Stupidity? What?

True, there's an incredibly charming side to this aspect of his personality, and it's definitely something that attracted me to Jamie when we first began dating. Because, quite often, this detachment from reality thing manifests as a kind of exuberant, ecstatic, seize-the-day attitude -- something that is difficult to argue with without feeling like a Scrooge and/or being overcome with self-hatred. I mean, he's right: OF COURSE we should jet off to Vegas for the weekend... and buy that really expensive Tiffany ring... and spend $300 on one meal. You only live once, right? RIGHT?

Sure, I participated along the way. Sure, I've reaped the rewards of living with someone who's knee-jerk reaction is to always say YES!, damn any and all consequences. I'm not denying that Insanity Has Its Benefits, and that I've enjoyed those.

But my willingness to stretch reality for shits-n-giggles has it's limits, folks. And they were recently reached -- nay, pressed beyond -- when Jamie began campaigning for us to buy an old $900,000 stone church.

I'll let that sink in for a moment. Do you need some smelling salts? Because I sure do.

Alright, so let me get this part out of the way: is the church awesome? Yes, yes it is. It's a mammoth stone-and-stained-glass relic of Old Baltimore, complete with a freakin' antique pipe organ. It's huge and beautiful and kick-ass.

It is also NINE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS. That's the number nine, with five fucking zeroes. In case that wasn't clear.

And those words should, of course, be the end of the conversation. But lest ye forget, we're dealing with a CRAZY PERSON here. And so despite that demonic nine and it's trailing quintet of ghastly zeroes, Mister Crazypants has been quite literally CAMPAIGNING -- to anyone who will listen, including friends, co-workers, vague acquaintances, pets -- for us to get this stupid church. To live in. As our home. As if.

Yes, I've run through the logic-side of things with him. One: We probably couldn't get a mortgage for $900,000 even if we wanted to. Two: A stone church would need a whole lot of renovation to be converted into a comfortable living space for a family. So make that a MILLION DOLLAR MORTGAGE. (passes out) Three: Heating a massive stone church? Let's not even go there. I may swallow my tongue and die.

It doesn't matter. This thing we call Logic does not phase him. And so my entertaining of this flight of fancy of his has essentially devolved into me screeching “NOOOOOO!” at him every time he brings the subject up. Kind of a blunt-instrument approach, but it appears to be effective.

However, let it not be said that I callously dictate. Here, I have created a poll by which You The People can have a say in this matter, thereby settling it objectively for us, once and for all:

Opinion Polls & Market Research

There. See how fair I am?