Our home really is a fine place. Built in the glory days of 1992, it once stood as a true homage to the wonderful world of grainy oak, shiny brass, florals and the color pink. A shining example of all the late 80's and early 90's, it had its moment in the sun. But, as they say, every dog has its day. And that day has passed. Like a freight train. And it's entirely up to yours truly to ensure this journey happens quite quickly. I take this responsibility more seriously than you could possibly imagine.
I have invested quite a large portion of my life attempting to rid my early 90's abode of its early 90's feel. I've painted every surface, refinished the cabinets and torn apart more than I can begin to describe. But this weekend, I realized that my journey is far from over.
But, like everything else in my life, I only manage to traipse through this journey by poking fun at others and laughing at the sheer hilarity I manage to locate in--well--everything. Seriously, it's UN-possible to laugh at these things.
Like the fact that someone, who I can only imagine was drunk at the time, spent their time, funds and energy to screw strips of linoleum flooring into the wall leading into the basement. You know, for that super classy "tile on the walls" look without all the hassle of buying tile and grout and other tiling supplies! Then, because these large black drywall screws would not have been enough to hold the flooring to the wall on their own, they framed out the floor covering on the wall with moulding. That doesn't line up. And looks like this:
My husband finds it to be quite hilarious that I announced this eyesore was the "first thing to go" when we moved in. It's been three years. The flooring on the wall remains. I had no concept of what home ownership meant back then.
But the bevy of fantastic ideas don't end on the stairway to the basement. I have reason to believe it's only where they began. It's like the stairway to our upstairs heaven. These design concepts continue into the downstairs bathrooms, where they continue to lack what I can only call "common sense." Because you and I both know screwing linoleum into the walls is very non-sensical. Someone spent extra money--and again time--on this delightful item:
What is it? Well, I really don't know. I have a few ideas:
1. A window that allows whomever is on the toilet to see whomever is at the sink
3. A place for my husband to store his glasses & contacts
4. An eye sore
5. A new, interesting way to torture me with questions about how to get rid of something so awful
The thing is, I really believe someone thought this out. It's framed quite nicely in oak moulding, which leads me to believe it was actually done, gasp, on purpose. But here's the thing---it's made of PLASTIC. Etched plastic, even. Which means I have absolutely no idea how to prevent it from being so awful. It just cannot be contained.
But then again, life sometimes has a way of making sense during moments of grief. Take this weekend for example, when I finally found my way into the master bathroom to slap on a much-needed coat of paint. I cracked a hook off the wall and found that the plastic-window-in-the-bathroom-people also chose to allow this item to stand out with this paint color:
Somehow, it all begins to make sense again.
So tell me: what should I do with my plastic window? Deal with it? Paint it? Use it to wipe my tears??