"I don't want a new couch," House grumps through the furniture store. "I like my couch."
"It's falling apart, Greg," Stacy insists, sitting on a fluffy white sofa, bouncing to test the cushions.
House snarls. "'S why I like it."
"You've had it since college. It's nearly an antique." She moves to a new collection of seating.
He continues to grumble about the entire shopping experience. He doesn't want a new couch. He likes his current couch.
Until he spots the black leather goddess of sofas across the store. He makes a beeline for it, leaving Stacy testing an ugly plaid sectional. Supple, softened, quality leather that squeaks when his skin rubs against it. He thinks it may be the most amazing piece of living room furniture he's ever seen.
The sales associate reaches him before Stacy does and he's haggled the price down by four-hundred dollars. He's presenting the associate with cash and making delivery arrangements.
"Greg, what are you doing?" Stacy asks, fear in her voice.
"Buying a couch," he responds nonchalantly.
"What? Which one? Not this thing!" she insists, waving at his leather goddess as though he'd chosen the Medusa.
"What's wrong with it?"
Stacy sighs and folds her arms over her chest. His purchasing decision apparently did not please her. He bought a new couch, did what she wanted. He's not seeing the problem.
He leans into her ear and whispers, "I'll let you help me break it in."