Sometimes- I craft.
It's an awful habit made worse by that "I'm-so-much-more-creative-than-you" site -Pinterest. I've also been trying to come up with a snarky nickname for that time-suck site but, ironically, have been too busy pinning away to actually tame the snarkbeast into submission. So instead I do things like haunt craft stores, flee flea markets, and repurpose toilet rolls and used up egg crates.
When my husband is home he likes to join me in my crafty-loos. And by "join" I mean "take the fuck over."
I had an idea to glue magnets to the bottom of Hot Wheels to make them wall art - but I was "doing it wrong." he immediately grabbed my glue gun, scooted my kitchen chair over and tsk-tsk'd over my choice of mixing body styles.
As I sat down tonight, armed with old comic books, a discounted shadow box, Avenger mini figures, and a deep impending feeling of doom, I just knew my loving better half would intervene.
I hurriedly cut, arranged, and glued feverishly until I felt his blue eyes boring into my (sweaty) back.
Thirty minutes of him hacking away at a poor, defenseless "Cloak and Dagger" comic later and him saying things like "Oh you HAVE to put this in there!" and "They don't even DO this anymore!" and "Let me stop and let you, the Craftress, work!" - okay, fine, I made up that last one - and we finally had a perfect storm of a Superhero Shadowbox.
And I resisted the urge to hot glue his forehead to his testicles.
Which still would've counted as a "craft" that I sooo could've pinned on Pinterest. :)