Is that your final answer?

This is what it's like to pick somewhere to eat in the Hatch household:
Royal: "What are you hungry for?"
Me: "Hmm... I don't know... What are you hungry for?"
Royal: "I asked you first."
Me: "Well, I picked last time so you pick this time.
Royal: Sighs. "How about Arby's?
Me: "Ewww, not Arby's."
Royal: "Mexican?
Me: "Had it for lunch."
Royal: "Hamburger Heaven?"
Me: "I worked out today, so I probably shouldn't."
Royal: "I can call Baker's and get a pizza."
Me: "Pizza feels so heavy. I don't think I want anything heavy."
Royal: Begins rummaging around in the fridge. "K. Let me know when you decide. I'm going to eat this block of cheese in the meantime."

A couple of weeks ago, we were debating a lunch spot and had narrowed our choices down to Tip Top Grill (we live just a couple blocks away, and it was a lovely day) or Mr. Chen's (I had just read Susan Swagler's review and it sounded delish). I told Royal to pick. He chose Tip Top, so I said let's walk there.
So we're walking, and it was kind of hot that day, and I was getting grouchy about how tight my pants were. We're like a hundred yards away and he says, "Why are you so quiet? Is something wrong?"
I say, "I really wanted to go to Mr. Chen's..."
I had to chase him down the sidewalk after he started walking back toward home in a huff. I told him I was just kidding. But I wasn't.

It isn't just food that is impossible to pick for me. We have had a plywood floor in our kitchen for three years because I can't decide on the flooring. Linoleum? Too institutional. Ceramic tile? I tend to drop things, so probably not a good idea. Wood? Too expensive. Cork? Ditto. Bamboo? Maybe, but I like the lighter colors and they look weird with our cherry cabinets. Then I'll see an article in one of my favorite shelter mags about these awesome new Marmoleum tiles and I'll think, "Maybe..."

Sometimes I imagine that this cycle will continue, until I'm on my deathbed. There, I'm surrounded by my nearest and dearest, who have gathered to see me into the great beyond (of course, I am dying quietly and painlessly, and I look fabulous). I will beckon to my husband, who, though still handsome and agile, will never remarry or even think of another woman because I was just that awesome. As he leans in, his face full of love, I will whisper my final words, "Tiger-stripe bamboo."