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.