Did you see Emily’s post about trying to decorate her kitchen while her husband looks over shoulder at rugs on overstock.com? It took me back instantly to a decade ago, standing in a Bed Bath and Beyond aisle with Erik, fighting over the godawful brown plaid duvet cover he wanted to buy.
I have no idea why I thought it was so important to include my husband in all of the decorating decisions, way back when. I mean, I guess maybe it is important, but the truth is – I am sort of good at this sort of stuff, stuff like duvet cover buying, and my husband is sort of not good at this stuff. Also, I care about it a lot lot lot lot more.
Anyway. We did not buy that plaid duvet cover (thank Jesus) but I did spend an incredibly large amount of time trying to find a duvet cover that we’d both like. Something manly but something that I wouldn’t hate. I bought one that was ok, but I didn’t love it, and then I found the duvet cover of my heart, and it was incredibly girly, and I bought that one and every time I see it, it makes me happy, and that is when I realized that my husband really doesn’t care that much about any of this stuff He didn’t much notice the duvet cover, except to crawl under it and snore like a lumberjack, and so our bedroom is pretty girly, and I think it looks nice, and I think he thinks it looks nice too. I mean, if I were dead, is this the room he’d create on his own? Doubtful, I’m sure. But it is nice.
What it really comes down to, honestly, is the amount of bitching I’m going to end up hearing in the end. I bought Kate Face a white crib because I liked it and I thought it suited the style of the house and her room, and even though I knew that Erik probably would have picked something boxy and brown, he just doesn’t care that much. He won’t notice it anyway. I’ll never hear about it. So I bought it, I love it, and it’s done. On the other hand, we once had one of those scratchy sisal rugs that we bought from Target and HOLY GOD I still haven’t heard the end of it. Maybe when you wear a SIZE FOURTEEN SHOE all that surface area makes your feet extra sensitive or something. I don’t know. All I know is that now when I buy rugs, the first thing I ask myself is “is this going to be soft enough for the biggest feet in America to walk on?” because the sisal/jute rug bitching is just not something I can handle hearing any more of. Ever. Again.
I do TRY. I try. I saw this episode of Northern Exposure once where Shelley decorated a bathroom in nothing but solid pink, and her husband couldn’t poop in it. I’m not lying at all when I tell you that sometimes I have to ask myself “Could a man poop in this bathroom?” when I am about to make a big decorating decision, and thus we scale back on the pink bathrooms and I think we’re all generally happy. Sometimes I get some crazy ideas that Erik isn’t too happy about, we have an orange file cabinet that he really doesn’t want me to paint even though it is so! freaking! orange! and if I were to buy another one today I’d probably buy a boring neutral brownish file cabinet, but I do respect his opinion, sort of, so the file cabinet is orange still. For now.
Most of our decorating conflicts arise because I skew hard towards form and Erik skews hard towards function. I like to call this “big plastic trash can.” If Erik had his way, we’d have a big giant plastic trash can, the kind you put out on the curb on trash day? Right in the middle of the kitchen. Because it holds SO MUCH TRASH and it barely ever has to be emptied and it’s a big plastic trash can! I don’t even know the justifications.
I don’t think that I need to tell you that there ain’t no way I’m living with a big plastic trash can in my kitchen. We used to have a silver step can from Simple Human, but when we moved it took up too much floor space and it was SO hard to empty, and I replaced it with a trash can that is attached to the inside of a cabinet door. I LOVE this trash can. It can’t be seen when the door is closed. It uses grocery bags as trash bags and it stores them right in the trash can! It is easy to take out the trash and it doesn’t take up any kitchen floor real estate and dogs and kids can’t get into it.
Do I need to tell you that Mr. E HATES this trash can? Well, he does, obviously. He hates it with a fiery passion, and this means we have a lot of super fun fights about it where I yell “BIG PLASTIC TRASH CAN!” at him, because that’s just how we party in the Central Valley. LIKE ROCK STARS.
Hey. At least the man can poop in our bathroom.
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