And still we don't have a new dining room table.

I thought shopping for a couch was tough. Looking back, that was bush league. Stretch out on a few sofas. Make sure the neck-to-sofa-arm angle is okay. Check the width so that you're solidly balanced when curled up in a fetal position "watching" baseball. Sure, nobody says that's easy. But * tables. Tables are the Bigs.

You got your round tables, your rectangular tables, your oval tables, your wide tables, your skinny tables. You got your leafs. You got your nonleafs. You got your nonleaf, extensions-hidden-underneath-at-either-end. You got your dark wood. You got your light wood. And don't get me started on the bazillion types of legs.

The biggest problem is that Jessica and I want different things.

She prefers a little table, something Tom Thumb might have used. It's not clear to me why she likes a little table. It's not clear to me because I typically don't listen to her. That's what she says, anyway. Right there in the middle of the showroom floor. It isn't true. I do listen to her. Otherwise, I wouldn't know that that's what she says. Case closed.

I prefer a big table. Something along the lines of the one in The Last Supper. Now, that was a table. Thirteen people -- on one side!

The reason I like a big table is because, well, the thing of it is, I like people. I like to entertain them in our home. Have them dine with us on something we made from scratch, like hot dogs. Well, we don't make the hot dogs. But we do boil them. We don't make the buns, either. Or the ketchup, the mustard, the relish. We don't grow the onions. Or the potatoes for the potato chips. The point is, I like people to come over and enjoy a meal with us around a roaring fire. Okay, we don't have a fireplace, either. Jeez, the point is, I like people. All right!? I like big tables because I like people. Okay!!!??? Now, get off my back about it. (Man, sometimes people can drive you up a freakin' wall. KnowwhatImean?)

Now, I'm not saying Jessica doesn't enjoy people. In her own way, I suppose she does. But it's a little difficult to tell sometimes. Granted, she laughs easily, forgives readily, sees another person's point of view effortlessly. So? You think people enjoy those types of people? You think people don't like judgmental, argumentative, domineering types? Huh? Well, they do. They like 'em a lot! And I'm going to get a big table to prove it.

This brings us to our other problem. The table is no longer just a place to sit and do funny things with your nose and a straw. It's now an expression of our aesthetic. Are we elaborate or plain? What does the table say about us? What do we want the table to say about us? Can we afford a table that says what we want it to say? If so, do they make talking tables?

The table has become a symbol.

Once that happens, forget it. You're paralyzed. Every consideration becomes larger than life. Or at least larger than your life. And certainly larger than the life of the average table.

That's what happens when couples shop together. I see it all the time. I go to these furniture stores, weekend after weekend after interminable weekend. Know what I see? That's right. Couples. They descend escalators wordlessly, looking more distressed than the faux-French country antique tables at least one of them wishes they would buy. Why? Because a table has gotten the better of them. (Advice to newlyweds: Never, ever let a piece of furniture become a symbol -- unless you can afford one that talks.)

I know a guy who never even saw his house before he moved into it. He got a new job halfway across the country. His wife went out there, looked at houses, found one she liked, he said fine, and, without him ever setting eyes on it, they packed up and off they went.

Now, that is the way nature meant for men and women to shop.

As it happens, we did finally buy a table. But after it was delivered, we decided its color wasn't dark enough and its chairs were too large. We sent it back.

I think we'll just throw a few pillows on the floor.