Bathroom Breakdown

Last night when I sat down in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by green striped bathmats, and towels, and toothbrush holders and began to weep, it occurred to me that perhaps I'm taking the new bathroom a little too seriously (or that it was definitely time for bed).
Then Richard, holding a can of spackle and spackle-spreader-outer in his hands said, "Why don't we get the paint on the walls and then decide what towels and decorations we need?"
A smart man.
Did I see that at the time, though? Nope.
All I could see at the time was, "There are about ten other things you could have said to me to make me feel better." Poor Richard. I would have shaken me if I were him. Or told me to go to bed, which I finally did.
Let's get to the bottom of this, though. Why was I crying?
Earlier in the day Richard had suggested replacing our towels. A normal wife should have said, "Cool! I'm on it!" Not this wife. Nosiree. This wife cried because she felt sorry for getting rid of the old towels. I didn't want to hurt their feelings.