Shopping is not fun. And that is official. In fact, shopping for furniture for your new house is almost as torturous as finding that self-same house in the first place. There is absolutely no need to spend hours debating the merits of one set of curtains over another twenty pairs, is there? Especially when they are all more or less identical. As long as curtains are approximately the right size and aren't completely hideous, then I don't actually care if they are voile or glazed cotton or sack-cloth, if you really want to know. The problem is that Kensi wants me to care. No, let's rephrase that: it matters to desperately to Kensi that I not only approve the purchase, but that I actively love the curtains. And I just can't summon up the enthusiasm. It would be different if we were talking about a new TV – but that's only natural. Except that Kensi has informed me we do not need a new TV.

"We could get one of those flat screen TV you can hang on the wall," I suggest. "In fact we could get two, one for the living room and one…"

"We are not having a TV in the bedroom." Can you tell that was a statement of fact, even without hearing the tone of Kensi's voice or the look on her face.

"If I was injured again, I could stay in bed and watch TV."

"One: you are not getting injured again – understand? And two: I know where it would end – with you watching football in bed, drinking beer and eating chips."

Exactly. What could be better? That's pretty much how I envisage heaven - never actually having to get out of bed at all. Except to go surfing, of course. Anyway, that was it as far as the TVs were concerned, and then it was back to curtains. And then the rest of the soft furnishings. I've never had soft furnishings before, and frankly, I've never missed them.. But now I am made aware that our lives will not be complete unless we have these, and that they all contribute to the 'theme'. Since when were houses themed? Did somebody forget to send me the memo?

"Since when did you become so bothered about interior décor?" Kensi's place usually looks as if a bomb has gone off. That time when we were investigating her and her apartment was turned over, it didn't actually look much different from its normal state of chaos. If you want the truth, it looked better. And if I had to describe her current furniture choices, it would be 'late twentieth century Salvation Army."

"I don't want to live surrounded by black leather and chrome," she retorts. "Or that picture you have of the dogs playing poker."

That picture is an ironic statement in the deconstructed world of post-modernism. I've no idea what that means, but it sounds good and I am sticking to it. More to the point, black leather is very practical – it doesn't matter if you spill beer on it, or if a mucky pup curls up beside you on the sofa. Plus, it looks cool and hip – doesn't it? I feel obligated to point out the blindingly obvious.

"My couch is black leather. And it's practically new."

"I know." Kensi heaves a huge, martyred sigh. "And we can't afford a new one, more's the pity. But with some bright cushions, and maybe a couple of throws, it won't look s bad. All we have to do is pick out a main colour and then an accent and we'll be fine. Then we can get the cushions, curtains, table lamps and rugs in those tones."

It's no good. I nearly fell asleep while she was talking. But clearly I have to make some sort of effort here. "How about navy blue?"

I shouldn't have bothered. "You are kidding me, right? You can't have a black sofa with navy blue highlights."

Really? You want to show me where about that's written down? Right now it seems that all I have to do is open my mouth, and Kensi jumps right down my throat before I can speak. Not literally, of course. We're in the middle of a shop, for crying out loud and we do have a little restraint. But before I can say anything, Kensi is talking again.

"Do not suggest plaid. Or stripes. We are not going there."

I shut my mouth again. It seems safest that way.

Eventually, just when I have almost given up the will to live, Kensi settles on taupe and teal as our two main colours. That's pale beige and what used to be called duck-egg blue to you and me. It could be worse, I suppose. And it only took two whole hours. Still, I can live with that. And it is a whole lot better than orange and bubblegum pink, which were her original choices. At least we've chosen the rugs, drapes, throw pillows and table lamps without any major bloodshed. And I managed to veto this chenille throw she was fingering lovingly. I guess the honours are about even so far.

"We need to go to the beds next."

I perk up considerably at that statement. Sadly, it turns out that Kensi doesn't want to go home and get under the covers and have some serious action. No, she wants to look at bedroom furniture instead. Whoopee.

"That's kind of cool." I point to this one bed that's caught my eye.

"We're not having a bed with a leather headboard." Kensi takes a closer look at the details. "And we are definitely not getting a vibrating bed."

"It's a massage function," I protest, but she is having none of it, and drags me off to look at sleigh beds and canopy beds and even water beds.

"I get sea sick." That's a lie, but I don't care. My feet are sore and my back aches and I just want to lie down.

"You're not being much help here."

"Sorry." Why am I apologising? Every time I suggest something, I'm shouted down. "Which bed do you like?" There's nothing like turning the tables around, after all.

Kensi looks worried. "I don't know. There's just so much choice. I did always dream about having a canopy bed when I was a little girl."

Dear God in Heaven. "We are not having a canopy bed," I say faintly. I mean, can you see me in a canopy bed? And will I ever hear the end of it from Callen and Sam if we get one? I think not. On the other hand, I am now beginning to understand why Callen's house is virtually empty. Furniture shopping was a lot easier when I was single and poor – I just bought whatever I could afford and there usually wasn't much choice, which made matters even simpler.

"I didn't say I wanted one now, did I? And you'd look ridiculous, surrounded by swathes of lace." What did I say to make Kensi so pissed off?

"I'm glad we can agree on something."

There we are, standing glaring at each other in the middle of the shop when what we are supposed to be doing is choosing furniture for our dream house. This is supposed to be fun, isn't it? So why are we on the verge of having a major blow up? Great.

"Why don't you just select the beds you like best and then we could try them out?" I suggest after a rather prolonged and uncomfortable silence.

"And what will you be doing?"

Well, actually I'm longing for a triple shot of tequila, only under the circumstances it's probably safer just to settle for an espresso. Handily enough, there's a coffee shop just outside the store. Still, I reckon that it's probably best not to mention that right now. Not if I want to keep living, that is.

"How about I go and have a look at dining sets, and pick out my favourites, and then we can compare notes?" That should take me no more than five minutes, I reckon. Ten at the very most. Plenty of time for a coffee and to get my head back together again. "How about we meet back here in an hour?"

"That's not very long," Kensi objects. "I mean, you can't rush buying a bed, can you?"

Therein lies the difference between us. As long as the bed is big and comfortable, I don't actually care a whole lot about what it looks like. "I trust your judgment, sweetheart." And with that blatant lie, I escape to the sanctity of the coffee shop. Life definitely seems a whole lot better when you have a decent amount of caffeine in your system.

One hour later, we meet back up and Kensi has managed to whittle her list down to two beds. Wonders will never cease. And, even more amazingly, they are both the sort of thing I can actually see in my house. Or rather, in our house. That still sounds strange, doesn't it? Our house. Maybe if I say it often enough, I might start to get used to it. One day, I might even believe it.

Our house.

The house we are going to share.

The house we are going to live in together, and make our new life together.

Our house.

No, it's no good, I still can't believe it. Since when did I get so lucky? Putting up with the sheer hell of shopping is worth it. I just have to make a bit more of an effort here.

"Which one do you prefer?" Kensi looks pretty anxious, which is adorable. I'd like nothing better than to test-drive these beds with her. What a pity the shop is so busy.

"They both look good." In fact, they both just look like beds to me. Still, I've got to show willing. "I think possibly this one." I gesture to the plainer one, but I'm careful to be non-commital, just in case she prefers the other one.

"That's my favourite too." Wow. For once I've said the right thing, judging by the way her face lights up. "I think it's the clean lines, don't you? It's classic, and yet contemporary at the same time."

No, it's just a bed, Kensi. Only I'm not going to shoot myself in the foot by saying that, am I? "I guess so. It kind of looks Scandinavian, doesn't it?"

And we all know how highly sexed the Scandinavians are, don't we? So it stands to reason that they'd know a thing or two about bed design. Well, that's my logic. And it's a nice bed. Only I don't plan to spend much time looking at it – I want to be in it, with Kensi at my side. Just to show willing, I bounce up and down a couple of times.

"So, you really like it?" I can tell Kensi really wants this bed. Which is fair enough. I want this bed too. I'd want it even if it was completely hideous, simply because she wants it so much.

"I really like it. And this is the one you want?" Please God, do not let her change her mind now.

"Definitely."

"Then I think we've just bought ourselves a bed."

Okay, that's another thing ticked off the list. And we've only been here for four hours. "Do you want to take a look at the dining tables?" I'm praying that Kensi will say 'no', only the Big Man upstairs has gone deaf.

"I can't wait to see what you've picked out," she announces brightly.

My heart is sinking as we make our way across the store towards the tables that caught my eye on my way back from the coffee shop. I'd got kind of diverted by the TVs and sounds systems en route, you see. "That would be my first choice."

Kensi looks at the table critically, and runs her hand across the top, without saying a single word.

"It expands, so you can seat up to eight people and I think it'll go well with the flooring. Don't you?" There is more than a hint of desperation in my voice. She can tell I just picked out the two plainest ones, can't she?

She avoids meeting my eyes. "And what was your second choice?"

This isn't good. "That one. Over there." I gesture vaguely and watch as Kensi goes over for a closer inspection and then returns to look at the first one again.

"I don't know." Her face is a study in neutrality.

"Don't you? Don't you like either of them?" Looks like I've struck out yet again. I knew I should have taken more time. Except what do I know about tables? Apart from the fact you sit at them. And women like to put fancy cloths on them. For me, a table has pretty much been a handy place to fix skateboards on. Only I've got a feeling that's going to be banned from now on.

That earns me a wide-eyed look. "Oh no, it's not that. I like both of them. Again, they've got that simple vibe about them – sort of Nordic design."

"Like that's our signature style?" What the hell am I saying? Real men don't have signature styles, do they? Clearly this place has begun to melt my brain.

"Exactly. I knew you'd understand."

"Of course I understand. It's great that we're on the same wavelength." You lying toad, Deeks. One day you are going to get found out and then you'll be in trouble. Still, I seem to be doing okay so far. "So which one do you prefer?"

"How about we go with your first choice?" Kensi suggests. "You've got pretty good taste. I mean, they're exactly the two tables I would have picked out."

The age of miracles is not yet past. "As long as you're happy with it. If not, we could look at some more?" Hey, I can be as reasonable as the next desperate man.

"I'm happy." Kensi links her arm through mine. "This was a whole lot easier than I thought it was going to be. To be honest, I thought it was going to be a nightmare."

"When we think so alike? No way." Now all we have to do is go pay the bill and try not to wince too loudly.

"This is really great, isn't it?" Kensi says when we're finally in the car and driving away, the proud possessors of a whole lot of furniture and accessories, but with our bank accounts an awful lot lighter.

"You'd better believe it." Do you know what? It is. It really is.

"I was actually kind of dreading this – because I thought we'd never agree on anything," she confesses. "But I realised today that we respect each other. And that's all that matters."

"There is the small matter of you being madly in love me with me," I remind her.

"That? Come on – that's hardly worth mentioning."

I think that it is only fair that I should point out that at this juncture, Kensi has her hand on my knee, and that her fingers are caressing my inner thigh.

"Isn't it?" I raise my eyebrows, but manage to keep my eyes glued on the road ahead, despite the distractions, namely the fact that her fingers are moving steadily upwards.

"Oh. I see what you mean. And you're right. That is definitely worth talking about. We're going to have to do something about that, aren't we?"

If I play my cards right after we get home, I still might get those TVs after all…

Five Signs You've Found The Right Partner

Sign #1: You Respect One Another

Respect should be at the top of the list. Respect is also something that should go both ways. You can tell your partner respects you when:

*: They are willing to compromise
*: They listen to your concerns and feelings
*: They notice when something is wrong and ask you about it
*: They value your opinion
*: They appreciate you
*: They are genuinely happy for you when you succeed

Five Signs You've Found The Right Partner is adopted from 5 Signs he is the right one for you at mydatingmoment dot com