And then, in a not-so subtle way, The Prince called me dysfunctional

Last night after work The Prince and I were strolling around Chapters. This is how trips to Chapters usually go with the two of us:

"Oh look! I want this!"
"No you don't."
"Oooohhhh look, cute little cards with birdies on them!"
"No."
"THEY HAVE A NEW CROCODILE JELLYCAT."
"Sweetie, no."
"My favourite author's book on the sale table? I don't think so. I need to buy this in protest."
"Nooooo."
"A new wine decanter! We need a new wine decanter, right?"
"No, the one we have is fine."
"Candles are thirty percent off. I need to stock up."
"NO. NO MORE CANDLES."
"BUT THEY'RE THE FANCY KIND."
"We are so leaving this store. I hate Chapters."

So, yeah. Last night, however, something a little different happened. We were walking through the journal section when The Prince went:

"Hey, you need this journal. It was made for you."
"Oh, that's so sweet of you. Let me see it."

This is the cover of the journal he was holding:

 I don't think he read the whole thing through. I DID. 

Yours, dysfunctions and all,