Fang is on vacation this week and I, too, took a few days off. I figured that we could spend some time together and I could get some things accomplished. We did a little antiquing the other day — I managed to score some very cool old hooks for the bathroom. We even managed to have a nice lunch, a brief stroll by the Hudson, and an ice cream cone. That was a nice day.
Yesterday? Not so much.
To say that I got up on the wrong side of the bed yesterday would be an understatement! No amount of coffee or Candy Crush Saga or (gasp!) even writing would break the mood. Everyone and everything annoyed me. Thank God I didn’t have to go to work. Fang might feel differently about that, though. I’ll bet if you ask him he’d tell you that he wished I had gone to work instead of spending the day with him.
Part of the problem was that I had an agenda AND Fang had an agenda. Sadly, we were of two VERY different minds regarding our plans for yesterday. He wanted to putter around. I wanted to go to the fabric store. I needed to get my hands on some more black Waverly toile to complete yet another project. I had recently realized that I had employed some faulty math when I purchased the original cut of the fabric, which meant that I would only be able to cover one-and-a-half seat cushions, instead of the two that need covering. (Half a seat is one of those units of measurement — kind of like 2.4 children — that doesn’t actually exist in the real world!)
He said that he wanted to come with me — to talk me out of the toile, I’m sure. And so I waited. And I waited. And I waited. While he passive-aggressively sipped his coffee — like an 18th Century lady during a social call. He was either purposely dawdling or awaiting the arrival of Mr. Darcy.
I think what irritated me most was that I knew that once we got to the fabric store that he was going to point out any number of fabric choices that were NOT toile. Because he’s always going on about how much he hates toile. Seriously. He hates it. Except that he doesn’t. He wouldn’t even notice its existence if it weren’t for the fact that I love it. It’s a passive-aggressive thing. Like the ladylike coffee-sipping. It’s also an annoying thing.
The black and white Waverly toile is absolutely perfect for my makeshift window seat. And, really, that’s all there is to it. Nothing more to see here, folks!
We finally set off on our little adventure. I got (more of) the fabric that I needed. I made sure that he had no time to wander the aisles. I picked the black and white toile off the shelf, had it cut, paid for it, and got out of Dodge.
From there we were planning to visit Bed, Bath, and Beyond. We were still sans a soap dispenser for the newly redecorated bathroom. We had looked high and low for something that we liked to no avail. Somehow, though, we had managed NOT to include the BATHROOM store in our search — obviously this had to be rectified.
I’m happy to report that we were successful there. We purchased not just one, but TWO, soap dispensers. One black, one white; one for soap, one for hand sanitizer. Perfect. Who would think that this concept would require any kind of conversation AT ALL? Yeah. Me neither. Except that it did. Of course it did.
I had to spend the next twenty minutes, or more — it felt like more — weighing the pros and cons of labeling the dispensers. Did I mention that I was ALREADY in a bad mood? Do I even need to tell you that I wouldn’t want to entertain this nonsense in the best of moods?
For the record, I don’t think it’s necessary — the labeling. I am of the opinion that if someone — mainly we are speaking about Fangette here, the 17-year-old girl-child who is the only other person who resides with us. (Outside of the cat, who, as far as I know has no idea how to operate a soap dispenser, how to read a label, or is overly concerned with either hand-washing or hand-sanitization!) For the sake of argument, let’s just say that she were to mistakenly sanitize instead of soaping or if she were to soap instead of sanitize, would the world, do you think, stop spinning on its axis? I don’t think so either. Not only am I confident that she can grasp the concept of white = sanitizer; black = soap, I am also fairly certain that if she were to become confused, it would not be a mistake of epic proportions.
What I really think worried him was not that Fangette would get it wrong, but that he would. I figure he’ll eventually catch on, too.
The other stumbling block in my madcap plan to leave the bottles unlabeled, as far as Fang is concerned, has to do with guests. I promised him that I would personally and verbally alert guests to the crazy system that I have going on in the hand-washing area. I assured him that I would, if we were expecting an onslaught of guests, make little notecards and place them in front of the bottles — I think that’s more personal than a computer-generated note taped to the bathroom mirror or, God forbid!, a post-it stuck to the bottles, don’t you? What I didn’t say was that I’d like to think that we associate with the type of people who wouldn’t be stymied by the whole soap/sanitizer controversy. They’d use whatever they squirted out — they wouldn’t judge. Who he thinks we hob-nob with, I’ll never know.
When I decide to finally drive my husband round the bend, I know exactly how I’ll do it. I’ll simply purchase a black AND white pump dispenser, possibly something in a toile pattern, load it with hand lotion, and make it part of the trio. I think that’ll about do him in, don’t you?
For those of you who have been along for the bathroom redo — here are some pics! Whaddya think? Not bad, right?