Tchotcke'd is totally a verb now

H. has a system of dividing responsibilities, or maybe it's expertise, that he calls "baskets". So, for example, shopping is my basket, even if we're shopping for him. This means I have to make the plan and lead the way. Movies are his basket, which means, I don't know, that he controls the Netflix queue and puts all my movies at #436. It doesn't really make any sense to anyone but him, this basket system.

Furniture is my basket. I accept this because it means I make the furniture decisions that keep hideous things out of our lovely apartment. Records are his basket because I don't want anything to do with them. Anyway, where was I going with this?

Oh, back in July I mentioned that we were looking everywhere for a record cabinet for H's increasing collection of vinyl records. And then, finally, we found one! On eBay!

There's a part of me that always thinks "paint it!" when I see that faux bamboo, but this is actually quite a nice chunk of wood so we won't be painting it.

First things first, the Investigator had to take a good look at it.

Once it was approved by the dauphin, it was ready to be filled and tchotchke'd.

Success!

tchotchkes

It meant a little rearranging, because we used to have a floor lamp and a magazine rack in that spot:

like so

But we've just moved those, like so.

ta da!

Anyway, H. thinks I'm "spoiled" because I got new furniture, and furniture is my basket. I think he's spoiled, because we wouldn't have needed it if it didn't have records. Obviously I'm right.