Thursday, March 31, 2011

The itty 'bitay' brain

As I leafed through a home magazine one afternoon, the ad for a beautiful log home in the wilds of New Hampshire caught my eye.

“Ooooh,” I excitedly said to my husband, “it’s 3,400-square feet with four bedrooms, a gourmet kitchen, three-car garage and sits on 10 acres. Overlooking a friggin’ lake! And it’s only $179,000!”

He snorted and answered, “So what’s wrong with it? Termites? Flood damage? It’s too close to Canada?”

“What’s wrong with Canada?” I asked.

“Eleven months of winter,” was his immediate response. He leaned over, pointed at the cover and added, “By the way, that magazine is from 1986.”

“What the ----!” I took a closer look at the cover. Dammit. He was right.

“That’s the last time I steal - er - borrow a magazine from your mom,” I said.

I flipped the page and noticed an ad for the “modern” bathroom. At least for one in 1986.

This thing was waaay beyond a place to do “paperwork,” which is how God intended. It was the Taj Mahal of Toilets and the Shangri La of Showers.

Look. I’m a simple girl. Maybe it was growing up on a farm. We didn’t have everything we wanted, but we had everything we needed. So I learned early on what the difference is.

So give me a freakin’ break when I don’t get all tingly about what homes today are supposed to have to make a family comfy.

I sighed. “What is it with people? Spa tubs that fit six. Showers with twelve nozzles. Fixtures that cost more than my first car.”

I looked closer and read from the ad, “‘Sure to be the new standard in master baths - the bitay.’” 

(I pronounced it “bit-tay” as in my brain is very itty-bittay today).

I looked up and asked, “What the hell is a bit-tay?”

My husband, choking on his beer ‘cuz he’s such a classy guy, laughed, “It’s pronounced ‘bah-DAY.’”

OK, Mr. Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless. “Oh, I know what that is,” I answered. “I’ve just never seen it spelled out before. That’s the toilet with the little fountain-thingy, right?”

His shoulders shook with laughter, and he snorted beer out his nose.

Yeah. Real classy, Mr. Fancy Pants, I thought as I headed to the bathroom. Because, you know...all this talk about you-know-what was giving my bladder ideas.

I took one step into the bathroom, made an unfortunate observation, groaned loudly and turned right back around.

My husband called out, “Problem?”

I yelled as I stomped upstairs, “You know what would really be useful in a bathroom? A self-loading toilet paper holder.” Priorities. Yep. I have them.

***

“Look at this one!” my husband said excitedly and reached out a hand to open the small, circular shaped door.

We had just stepped inside the appliance store and - WHAM - two seconds in and my husband had already lost focus.

I sighed, “We’re here for a chest freezer not a new washer and dryer.”

Ignoring me, he gestured toward the pair of bright red machines with enough buttons, lights and chrome to have been right at home on the space station.

Which probably explains why this country is so damn broke. Anyway....

“OHMYGOD!” my husband exclaimed and stuck his entire head inside the washer. “Look how big it is!” His voice echoed out the steel tub and reverberated throughout the store.

Great. Let the vultures descend.

“May I help you?”

...and there it was. I turned to look the very nice salesman in the eye and answered, “Yes, we’re looking for a new freezer today.”

He smiled and said, “Right this way.”

My husband emerged from the washer’s basin. “We so need one of these. It’s way better than our top-loader.”

“Our washer works just fine,” I assured the nice salesman who undoubtedly smelled blood in the water and was already trolling for the injured swimmer...aka my husband.

“But everything loads in the front, so we won’t have to bend over,” my ever-thoughtful husband assured me.

“We?” I asked. “We? When was the last time you did laundry?”

Silence.

“Well, if we got a pair of these I’d do laundry a lot more often,” he answered.

Oh, right. Like I’m gonna fall for that one. Again.

New Hampshire, here I come.

No comments:

Post a Comment