Most. Dysfunctional. Relationship. Ever.

Some things are best seen, and not explained in great detail. So instead, I'll just link to this website called "Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About" and post a few select excerpts. It's so absurd, I'm almost positive this has to be for real.

I'm not even going to try to dissect this. Why tie up both our mornings on a futile hunt for understanding, eh? I'm surely not going to be able to pick out anything - my searching fingers are now too callused, from running them along Margret's reasoning in an attempt to identify the scar where it's been imperfectly welded to reality. So, here we go, then.
I shuffle into the living room. It's first thing in the morning; I'm still in my night clothes, the children are circle-eyed and oval-mouthed - their faces distorted by the gravitational pull of the television screen - Margret is opening some post. I flop down on to the sofa.
Margret glances over at me. 'Have you got butter in your ear?' she asks, casually, before returning to her letters.
Briefly, I wonder if this is dream... too close to call, I decide - may as well just press on regardless.
I reach up and touch the side of my head. My finger returns with some shaving foam.
'It's shaving foam,' I reply.
Without looking up, Margret nods. 'Oh, right. It's so early - I didn't think you'd had time for a shave already.'
She thinks it's too early for me to have had a shave, everyone, yet easily late enough for me to have butter in my ear.
Move along, now. Nothing more to see here.

• Margret thinks I'm vain because... I use a mirror when I shave. During this argument in the bathroom - our fourth most popular location for arguments, it will delight and charm you to learn - Margret proved that shaving with a mirror could only be seen as outrageous
  'Ha! Difficult to check up on that, isn't it? As all the other men you've been with can now only communicate by blinking their eyes!' I said. Much later. When Margret had left the house.
  
  
• I came home from work on Friday and, as I wearily opened the door into the house, Second Born, Peter, heard me entering and poked his head out of the living room.
  'Hello, Papa - I've missed you,' he shouts. From within the living room Margret's voice calls out to him 'No you haven't, Peter.'
  
  
• Margret is sitting at this computer (which is in the attic room, incidentally) typing something. I'm flopped in a chair close by with a paper and pad, scribbling away at a bit of work.
  I pause and say to her, 'Tortoise and turtle is the same word in German, isn't it?'
  She stops typing, reaches over, pulls off one of my Birkenstock shoes, throws it down through trapdoor (I hear it thud below, then flip-flop down the stairs) and returns to her typing. All in a single, silent movement.
  Your guess is as good as mine, frankly.

Warning: There is some slight language. It's not in terrible excess, but still, a heads-up nonetheless.