It's not actually in the house, it's in the car and it turns two mild mannered individuals into crazed loonies.
It happens when we head for somewhere we've never been before and I'm in charge of the map, he's in charge of the steering.
This is generally how it goes;
Ø if HE takes a wrong turn, it's my fault for not concentrating on the road. Oh I'm sorry, I was cleaning up the child vomit you hadn't even noticed has covered the back seat and whole of the ceiling
Ø if we can't find a road, HE DRIVES FASTER, giving me absolutely no chance of reading the street signs to see where we are
Ø if we are lost he starts to panic, and screams "look at the f***ing map" as loud as possible at me, whilst I - not one to swear - politely respond with "stop the f***ing car and I will"
Ø so as we get more lost, drive even faster, and now have a square metre of map fully opened and obscuring the driving view, he decides we're GOING HOME
Ø yes, defeatism sets in. We're never going to find it, we're late anyway, he's turning the car around and going back. It doesn't matter how long we've been driving. He can't be arsed with this shit car / shit place / shit holiday / shit night out I'm making him go on (delete as appropriate)
Ø he ignores my shouts of "BUT WE CAN'T GO HOME’ because *through clenched teeth* we’re in a hire car, we have to return it, to the industrial shed from whence it came, on the OTHER side of this motorway we CAN’T SEEM TO GET OFF.
Ø too late, we've missed our flight. F***ing typical.
Just drop me at the bus stop.
NB: I'm sure the other half would give you a different story.