Lately I’ve been home staring at the four walls … actually, all 28 walls. When you are bored, you count things. I have also been staring out each of my 16 windows.
I’ve been stuck indoors the last few weeks, so I needed to find humorous topics inside my house. Problem is that in more than 600 newspaper columns, I’ve already written about most of the rooms — including the two baths. My very first column was about the garage. Successful people like Levi Strauss and Steve Jobs began their careers with ideas conceived in the garage. This really bugs me. I have never started anything noteworthy in my garage besides my 1978 Ford Pinto when it was only 9 degrees outside. I should get some points for that. And although I did start to clean the garage once, I never finished, so I can’t take credit there.
I have also written about the basement. Well, we called it the basement until we invested a boatload of money to fix it up; then we started calling it the lower level. The plan was to make a beautiful room where we could entertain guests, sip wine and talk about good books. These days, no humans are allowed downstairs except the men from Orkin. We had a pool table, but we only used the cue sticks to wrangle cobwebs from the ceiling. The playing surface became the perfect resting area for a year’s supply of Bush’s baked beans. Each side pocket held a flashlight. Corner pockets? Duct tape, Scotch Tape, and electrical tape. We finally sold the pool table. It cost us more to get rid of it than to buy it. The area looks much more open now. But I keep tripping over the cans of beans.
After we got a new washing machine in the laundry room, I wrote about how complicated the instructions were. The buttons gave me options such as SILK, COTTON or WOOL. One setting said HAND WASH, but I wasn’t going to stick my fingers in there so I opted for Purel, instead. The setting for BIG AND BULKY scared the dog half to death. The dryer had a setting called SUPER HOT, which I told my wife was a setting especially for her. Sounds romantic, but we weren’t at a dreamy little café. We were standing knee-deep in dirty sheets and underwear.