At a party once, Jesus was asked if he were a leg man or a tit man. The answer is neither. He's a LEGO man. Well, to be honest, he's all three, but rather like faith, hope and charity, the greatest of my husband's loves is LEGO. I'm not bitter. The colorful, benippled bricks have just been around rather longer than I have. That's not to say LEGO has never caused problems in our relationship. When it did, though, I came up with the following 10-point solution to cope.
To tell the truth, I was once as bewitched by the bricks as he is. We had a massive box at home, a hangover from when my brother, older than me by 11 years, was the snot-nosed kid of the house. (Well, I say massive, but it was barely Yoda-sized compared to J's Millennium Falcon box of LucasTricks.) When I inherited the snot-nosed kid mantle, my brother having moved on to smoking dope and listening to Pink Floyd, I also inherited the LEGO.