Story of a psycho wife

I am the psycho wife in this story by way. 

And when I say psycho, I don't actually mean psycho. 

(Psycho is one of those words that gets a bit weird if you say it too many times. Psycho. Psycho.) 

I mean, just a little bit strange/neurotic. 

And even when I say story, I mean this isn't going to even be a story.

Probably at least one half of my personality could be pigeon holed in the category strange/neurotic, (psycho on a bad day) but the particular trait that I'm referring to is my frequent need to test mine and Ross' compatibility.

Now, I married the poor man, so that is a pretty sure confirmation (you'd sincerely hope so, at least) that we're compatible.

But sometimes I just like to test it anyway.

Well, I only ever test him to make sure that his opinion is in line with mine.

But that is what any good wife would do, right?

Let me share a few examples...

1). Walking past a shoe shop window, I stop and say 

"I'm picking out in my head the pair that I like the best, which ones have I chosen?"

2). In the ice cream section of the supermarket.

"I'm craving a particular flavour right now, which one do I want?"

3). While we're sat in silence.

"I'm singing a song in my head right now, do you know which one it is?"

Ross says that they're not compatibility tests, more like me seeing if he can read my mind or not, which rather impressively, he sometimes can.

And here is where the neuratic-ness really takes centre stage. 

If he doesn't guess right/know what I'm thinking I am grumpy for at least ten minutes and demand lots of hugs and snugs to make me happy again.

But if he gets it right I have never loved him more. 

That's normal, right?