Did I Say San Francisco?

I think I married my father.

When I was young(er), my father would torture me with this really cool mind-game of his. He'd have a decision to make: red tie or blue? Volvo or Sunfire? He'd get us kids involved in the debate, get us to come out in favour of one thing or the other, and he'd agree that we were right, the red tie or the Sunfire was the decision.
Then WHAM! He'd flip. "No, it's the blue tie." "Actually, the Volvo is better" (okay, so he was right there).

Sometimes, if he was really feeling mischevious, he'd get us to agree with the flip -- only to flip back. "You know, I think you were right before. The red tie it is!"

Now that I'm older, married (happily, thank you!), have a child of my own, I think I understand that he was trying to get us to think for our own and stand by our decisions in the face of pressure. But holy shit, was it frustrating.

Mr LSG and I are doing a similar dance lately with the "where do we live" question -- as soon as we say "Right, we're blowing this clambake" we start to feel as if we might actually like to stay in London for a while. Damnit.