There was an urban legend at my school about a kid who, on sitting his final exams, realised that he hadn't done enough revision and didn't know any of the answers. In a moment of stress fuelled panic he killed himself by sticking the sharp end of a pencil up each nostril and slamming his face down on the desk so that the pencils rammed into his brain.
Even as a gullible twelve year old this story sounded like bullshit to me - nobody could ever feel so miserable about anything that they'd choose to end their life like that. But that was before I'd ever endured the process of buying a new bathroom with a woman.
The bathroom is the last part of our house that needs to be updated before it's all finished. I do not care about bathrooms, they are places where I spend relatively little time and consequently I give not one solitary fuck about the décor. As long as water comes out of the places it's supposed to come out of and stays in the places it's supposed to stay in, and as long as the toilet efficiently removes whatever I choose to deposit in it, then I am happy.
My beloved refuses to believe that I have no further interest in the matter, and has badgered me for weeks with brochures from bathroom designers, insisting that I express an opinion on things like mirrored cabinets, towel rails and taps. I do not spend all fucking week whoring my soul to Mammon just so I can waste my spare time pretending to give the faintest whiff of a shit about taps.
You've heard the phrase "bored to tears" - that's literally how I feel about taps. After she'd made me look at pictures of taps for thirty minutes and demanded to know which ones I like best and, worse yet, to justify my selection, I wanted to break down crying on the floor, curled into the foetal position. I have no opinion on taps, none whatsoever, taps can go fuck themselves with a garden rake. You might as well ask me what my preferred brand of tampons is.
I don't understand what's going on here. Wife knows that she can have whatever bathroom she likes and I will sign the cheque without asking any questions about her choices - surely that's the ideal situation for most women? Why must I have my life ruined by endless conversations about things like tiles?
That brings me onto the next problem - the floor tiles. We are having the same tiles on the floor as on the walls. You might think, as I did, that would be a bit slippery, but the tiles are porcelain instead of whatever the hell tiles are normally made from, and porcelain tiles are not slippery when wet because of reasons or science or something.
I know, I didn't believe it either - but we've got a big sample tile in the bathroom at the moment so I made a point of standing on it when I got out of the shower to test it and it honestly isn't at all slippery. We had a bunch of friends round for dinner last night and they were just as incredulous, which is how a perfectly civilised dinner party ended up with six drunk adults stood barefoot in the garden at 11pm, pouring water onto a porcelain tile and trying their best to slip over on it.
Anyway, it turns out that I couldn't have the only thing I actually cared about in the bathroom - one of those mirrors that doesn't get steamed up, in the shower, so I can shave while I'm showering. Apparently those things need electricity to work and the building regulations say you can't have electrical appliances in the shower. Bastards.
'Wife knows that she can have whatever bathroom she likes and I will sign the cheque without asking any questions about her choices - surely that's the ideal situation for most women?'
ReplyDeleteYes, in fact this is all I look for in a man.
If it's not too late, go for underfloor heating. Decadent but lovely.
(I don't understand the science of the porcelain tile.)
Do I detect a hint of sarkyness, madame? There are just some decisions which are better made without my involvement. I don't ask my wife to help decide on things she doesn't care about, like which tyres to put on my bike or whether I should work on my abs or my pecs this week.
ReplyDeleteI doubt she's being sarky because there are also men who will refuse to participate in a positive fashion in design decisions but will also veto every choice the woman makes because it's too expensive/wasteful/my parents never needed one of those/ungreen/ isn't from the economy range at Ikea/whatever.
ReplyDeleteWell that's the other thing. Throughout the entire process of renovating our house, whenever I've made any kind of suggestion or offered an opinion about anything to do with the design/decor, wife has immediately shot me down.
ReplyDeleteNot only do I not care about the bathroom, I also know that it wouldn't matter if I did care because I wouldn't be allowed to have what I want anyway. There is absolutely no reason for me to be involved in the process beyond agreeing the budget - so why pretend otherwise?
in which case you need to find a nice NO1CURR image and hand it to her whenever the topic arises
ReplyDeleteWhat the deuce?! You found a meme of which I was previously unaware! This is how I feel now.
ReplyDeleteNo no not sarky at all, but wistful. A man who slaves to buy you stuff like a bathroom and then leaves all the choices up to you sounds like heaven.
ReplyDeleteTo be fair, I don't exactly slave for anything, I just trade a little piece of my soul for cold hard cash every day.
ReplyDeleteThis was what I actually meant to link to in the previous comment, not that stupid site.
Comments. COMMENTS! Am I being dim or have these only just been switched back on? Is this because you were a-fearing we'd all get hetty on posts about fathers and roleplay*, but we're allowed to run riot about taps.
ReplyDelete~runs about blog leaving comments~
* This sounded different in my head.
I dunno wtf was going on with the comments - I'd never switch them off and had no idea there was a problem until one of the Manx Lads mentioned it in an email yesterday.
DeleteThey seem to be working again now, so feel free to get as hefty as you like.