When my fiancée and I set a date for our wedding, she came to me with a list of demands. As it turned out, I would have to change a few aspects of my behavior if she were to marry me. Of course I was prepared to curtail my habit of carousing and rabblerousing late into the night at the corner bar, but one of her other conditions caught me off-guard.
She insisted that once we moved in together, she would be in charge of the decorating. I would be allowed to maintain a “man cave” in the basement, where I could keep my various NASCAR license plate tin sign, by billiards table and the gigantic flat-screen TV I saved up for all last summer. It was understandable that she wanted to make the rest of the house presentable for company, and I readily agreed to the conditions.