The responses I get when I show people around our house fall into two categories.
The first is a mixture of two emotions followed by a physical response to conceal those emotions. This response usually comes just after I show guests the pastel green master bedroom. Shock and pity followed by a hastily constructed poker face.
The verbal translation: “Oh, wow. Ok. Cool.”
(A little aside: the house, of course, belongs to Lisa as well, so that explains the use of ‘our’)
Now, there are two other things I should tell you about our bedroom. One, there has been a strip of masking tape on the ceiling since 2006, when over-enthusiastic roofers knocked a little chunk of plaster onto our bed. Two, the pine floor we’ve been bragging about is actually just the polished subfloor. It would appear that the previous owner started the job of replacing the floor, but either ran out of money or thought to himself hey, if I just slather polyurethane all over this, I bet no one will by the wiser. Turns out, it was a good decision on his part. That floor has been a talking point for Lisa and I for six years.
The second kind of guest response that occurs during a grand tour of our house is a non-reply; an it-is-what-it-is response. This reaction is a little disconcerting at first because it looks a bit like stunned terror, and it usually comes after I show a guest our kitchen with its 1970s-style ceramic, micro-tiled countertop and glossy, deep orange cupboard doors. At this point, I really find it difficult to read the face of my guest. I myself often get confused when I enter my severely retro-style kitchen, thinking I’ve just walked into the Country Style Donuts of my youth. But then, my guest will nod his or her head and, without hesitation, utter a simple one-word response like “nice” or “cool”, and then move on.
This second type of response usually comes from the most practical and pragmatic of guests, those who live a life of low-maintainence, who travel light and usually by the seat of their pants. While I much appreciate their ability to overlook the 1997 Sony TV set in the living room, I always find myself justifying to them my luxury purchase of the Sony Playstation sitting on top of it. We can watch the best political documentaries from Netfix, really!
On the other hand, the first type of response, the shock and pity one, comes from those who appreciate life’s comforts. I may be merely speculating here, but they are most likely to believe there is a fine line between what constitutes a charming little house and what constitutes the domain of a crazy cat lady. My house, I believe for the most part, falls into the latter category for these types of guests. When showing these types around I always feel a bit like Mike Myer’s SNL character, Middle-Aged Man, who would grab the flab of his gut and windedly exclaim “I’m working on it! I’m working on it!”
And in truth I am working on it. We both are – sort of. It’s just that the novelty of DIY wore off for us in 2009, and choosing a contractor lately has been a worrisome as picking a winner from Match.com. Besides, as of late there are just too many nice parks in the city and too many good sandwich shops within walking distance of the splash pads for us to sacrifice a sunny Sunday afternoon watching paint dry.