Self-Diagnosis

So I'm just sitting at my desk, minding my own business, Sim-ing away while LoveBug sits behind me killing terrorists.

I work quietly, lovingly, designing the kitchen for a new home that some Sim will be moving into this week.

And after my work is done, I say, "Hey Honey -- lookie see what I did! I designed a kitchen with some downloads I snarfed up."

He takes off his headset and looks over at my screen. Then he makes this sound. This "tsk" sound. It's barely audible, this "tsk", but I freaking heard it.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing" he says.

"No, you made the 'tsk' sound. What? You think I'm stupid for playing Sims, don't you? You think I should be inside doing laundry, or studying, or reading a good novel, or practicing my photography, don't you? You think I'm living out my dreams vicariously through a computer simulated game, right? You think I'm sick because I downloaded a skin that makes Jodes look like she was smacked on the ass during rough sex, right? What? WHAT? Just say it. SAY IT."

"Well, I don't know who Jodes is, but you put the stove next to the refridgerator. You should really move it to the other side of the room."

This is Funky, and that is all.