The fact that my husband is sick on the whole head is testified by the fact that he is married to me. He has some incredible number of bits, which eventually start to spread by air droplets to relatives, friends and acquaintances.
One such way is to give human names to uninhabited objects. Not everyone, of course, but only the most worthy. And he not only baptizes them, he also talks to them.

For example, he has a favorite circle. A penguin is painted on the circle. The penguin’s name is Pafnuth.
I once asked:
Why the Paphos?
My husband looked at me surprised and asked:
Well and how?
I thought and understood: really, no more.
In the morning, the husband takes Pafnutia out of the kitchen cabinet and says:
“Well, brother Pafnuty, for a cup of coffee?
In the evenings, they and Pafnoty drink tea, and my husband complains to him about me:
“You see, Pafnuty, with whom do you have to cut the century? Appreciate, brother, loneliness, do not make a penguin.

There is a Bulgarian woman named Zinaida. The bulgarsk is not in the sense of a native of Bulgaria, but in the sense of a tool for cutting metal.
At first, her husband called her Snow, because he believed that the Bulgarian must have a Bulgarian name. However, after getting acquainted with the character of the Bulgarian, he realized that she was Zinaida.
When you need to cut something metal, he gets it out of the shell and says:
Zinaid, are we going to be mad?
And they begin to go crazy. And when they get mad, he puts it in a shell, puts it on a shelf and gently says:
Good dreams to you, Zina.

And in the apartment we live in a closet named Boris Petrovich. So respectfully, by the name of the father, yes.
When we bought the apartment, the first thing we ordered was a closet. And this closet was collected by a collector named Boris Petrovich.
Of course, this fact throws a shadow of shame on my husband, but in fact there is an explanation for it.
In fact, all the rest of the furniture in our house (as well as in the house of my mother, in the house of his parents and in the houses of many of our friends) was collected by the husband himself. And the closet would gather, just spit, but it turned out that on the day of delivery he was on a business trip and had to return only weeks after two.
I categorically refused to live two weeks in the midst of an unthinkable number of boards and boxes, in addition, I could not wait to quickly hang up all my clothes on hangers, so I didn't wait for my husband and invited a store collector. I have regretted it forty times.
The collector Boris Petrovich, coming to visit me, took a one-column bath, and this one-column of the brand "Honey Forest" (or "Russian Field", or "Youth of Maxim" - I don't know) swept the whole house. I escaped from Boris Petrovich’s amber on the balcony.
Boris Petrovich worked concentratedly, relentlessly, with a feeling, with a lot, with a setting, with five breaks for tea drinking. I was very surprised why I didn’t make him company at the table. And I just can’t drink tea that smells of column.
The professional Boris Petrovich, being a collector from God, collected the closet from 9 o'clock in the morning to 11 o'clock in the evening. During this time, my husband could easily put up a two-story house and a bath in the yard.
My things remained lying in the boxes, not knowing the cold of the hangers, because all two weeks before the arrival of my husband I ventilated the whole apartment, and the closet in particular, from the smell of Boris Petrovich. I was even ashamed to ride the subway, because it seemed to me that the whole car was being shielded from me by this cheap killing column.
When the man arrived, there was already a decent atmosphere in the apartment. He joyfully jumped to the furniture renovation, happily cried out, "Oh, the closet!" He shut up, opening the door.
About a minute he came to himself from the smell that came upon him, and then asked me:
Emm... what is that?
“This is Boris Petrovich,” I replied.
This is how our closet got its name, and the collector Boris Petrovich, without knowing it, became his baptist (our cousin, therefore).
Now the husband, going to some important event, advises with the closet what to wear:
– Boris Petrovich, what about the blue shirt?
Or asks for:
Can you borrow a tie, Boris Petrovich?
He hangs his suit and says:
Boris Petrovich, keep it as your honor.

We also have a Stepan magazine table.
Well here it is simple: we bought it in disassembled form, and at home it turned out that the assembly instructions are written in English and Chinese.
My husband first asked me to read the Chinese version, then for ten minutes he was upset that he married some illiterate little girl who didn’t even know Chinese, and then graciously allowed me to read in English.
A cowboy-woman and in English, in general... khmm... But something else.
The instructions were written “step one.” Well, with my pronunciation... In general, the magazine table became Stepan.
When I look for a lighthouse or a magazine, my husband says:
I don’t know where. Ask the Stepan.

We also have a microwave. I know it’s something personal that I don’t need to know.
Because when my husband puts a plate of food into her and gently says, “Warm up, Galia... Do it for me, little girl...” all my questions are stuck somewhere in the area of the thyroid.
A romance of the past.

We also have an electric plywood that breaks forever. Her husband calls her Nadja.
When I asked why Naducha, he replied:
I had one... I also broke all the time.
When he is going to burn her egg in the morning, he always asks:
“Well, Nadjush, will you finally be mine today? Give my eggs a chance.

We also have Raisa’s ashes. The husband claims that that she is Raisa can be seen with the naked eye.
When a man wants to smoke, he says:
Raisa, make a nice company.
And when something distracts him, he puts a cigarette in it and says:
Raisa was arrested.

This infection is viral.
Some of our friends have Phil's TV (because "Philips") and Anatoly's refrigerator (because it's always full of shit, like the pockets of Wassermann's jacket).
Others named the lion from the television Lucy - in honor of a neighbor who is also, according to them, a lion.
The third resides in the laundry machine Love Petrovna. When the car was delivered to them and unpacked, their old grandmother shrugged her hands and said:
Beautiful as the love of Petrovna Orlova!
And even my mom has a teaspoon named Isolda. I don’t know why Isolde. When I tried to figure it out, my mother looked at me as if I had been deceived (but she always looked at me like that), and my husband said with indignation that he had never heard of a more stupid question in his life, and that every fool understands why the spoon is so called.

Actually here.
I don’t know why I wrote all this here... Well, probably to emphasize the idiotism of my family and the comrades close to her.