We have a porch. I like the idea of being able to sit outside on a summer morning and read the paper or in the evening for a few drinks. I see it as another room of the home, this exterior extension, to be decorated, used and enjoyed. So, upon moving in I brought a wooden table and rod-iron chairs. The chairs can not be sat in without cushions on them, so I set out to buy some.

This was when I discovered that Selena maintains a high barometer for what is fit to live outside. A few non-sequiters started to make sense: that there was never anything except a plastic table on her porch before I moved in; that she grew tense when I said I would just leave the beer on the porch cause it was cold enough outside; when she mentioned that potting soil needed to be kept in the house. But it when when she hijacked my IKEA bag and took the chair cushions hostage, and ran them back to the shelf that I realized we were not on the same page about what is acceptable to live on the porch.