My wife is addicted to porn—real estate porn.
See, we live in less than 500 square feet. With a toddler and a baby, both of whom are growing rapidly, alongside their also-growing piles of stuff. In addition, we have a north-facing balcony that gets no sun until late afternoon, if at all. Plus, we live on the first floor, and have to deal with crowds from the Swedish national soccer stadium down the street (meaning that there are sometimes dudes peeing right outside our window, and occasional hooligan brawls).
So she dreams a bit. Fantasizes. And the big newspaper here in Sweden gives her all the real estate porn she needs.
Every week, they produce this huge tabloid special section, with a big cover spread on some family that just converted their island into an eco-paradise, or maybe bought out four apartments in one building and knocked down all the walls to make one giant room all in white. Still, my wife's fantasies are shockingly moderate. No McMansion for her. No big penthouse. Renovate Your Way To A Better Marriage
All she wants is 700 square feet. And a patio.