Dean and I got into a fight about Burning Man last night. I think he should stay at home and save money. He’s fine staying at home–as long as I’m by his side. If we were rich people, it’d be great if he came with me, but we’re not. And we’ve got a wedding to budget for.
“You know, Dean. It’s going to cost $1200 for the RV and $300 for your ticket. That’s just the base amount. You still have to think about gas, food, alcohol, water…all the things that are going to make you feel comfortable for a week in the desert. Are you really thinking about these things?”
“If you can go, then why can’t I go? If you can afford it, I can afford it.”
“I work for Burning Man. My ticket is comped. All of my meals are taken care of. I’ve been going for almost a decade. I plan for this expense every year. You know what your problem is? Trust. You don’t trust me. You should really think about that before we get married.”
“It’s not you, Baby! It’s the ecstasy. You and naked guys and ecstasy. That’s what I don’t trust.”
After getting ready for bed, Dean asked sadly, “Do you not want me to go to Burning Man?”
“No, of course not, I want you to be there with me.”