"Are we assholes?"
I asked Salty D. after we got word that our home renovations were scheduled.
Our house was built in the 1950s. They don't make 'em like this anymore. She's built like a brick shithouse. A bomb shelter. A charming bomb shelter.
Except it needs a lot of work, the layout doesn't make sense for the modern girl, and the bathrooms are too small. Don't even get me started on the lack of closet space.
OK, get me started.
Did people in the 1950's have less clothing? Really? They had poodle skirts and sweater sets and swingy coats to get them to the Shake Shack, The Frostee Palace, or Arnold's every night, how did they fit those fluffy clothes in my itty-bitty closets? And didn't they wear a lot of hats? Because there is NO room for hat boxes, and I know this, because I have hat boxes. I dream of having a walk-in closet, while simultaneously dreaming of getting rid of all my shit.
Rather than turning one of our weird bedrooms into a giant closet, however (one of my twisted fantasies,) we made our bathroom the next home improvement priority, and in our heads we designed what we wanted to make our tiny bathroom beautiful and useful and efficient. Then we engaged a designer and a general contractor to do it right. We are failures at DIY and you don't want to mess around with a bathroom. I don't even bother watching home improvement tv shows anymore, what's the point?
But last week I was cutting strawberries and I started to cry. I asked D., "Are we assholes? For getting these renovations done now?" I could see in his eyes that he was bracing for me to say I wanted to bail on the job. "No," he replied, "We're assholes for other reasons. But not for renovating our bathroom."
I continued to cut strawberries with a very sharp knife while tears welled up in my eyes. "There's just...so....much...need... in the world and we are spending our time and money on a fucking bathroom!"
Can you imagine being married to me? I bitch and moan for years about this gawddamn bathroom, then it finally starts to come together, and then I go and say something like that.
D. was smart though. He just stood there for a moment. Somehow I would work out in my head that even though I don't know what to do about all the need in the world I could still get my bathroom remodeled. Plus, I was hormonal, and holding a sharp object.
So, I'm not going to be an asshat and talk about tile and faucets, except to say that this is going to be our summer of love and tile and faucets.