A new hope

The keys to the rental house have been turned over to us.  Our furniture comes tomorrow.  Right now I am trying to catch up on a week’s worth of laundry in half an afternoon.  Will I make it?  It remains to be seen.  That is not what I meant to say.  What I meant to say is that I am sitting in the furniture-less rental house doing laundry. 

This is very difficult for me.  Not because there’s no furniture to sit on, but because this house is so nice.  The downstairs is no better than ours, really, but the upstairs–oh my sweet providence, the upstairs.  I want to cry.  It is so beautiful.  It is so much better than ours.  Granted, my perception of its beauty is skewed somewhat by the fact that our upstairs has not looked its best for the last ten days, what with the ceiling parts missing and all–but even accounting for that, there’s no denying that this upstairs is simply a superior design.  The walk-in closet in the master bedroom is much bigger.  It’s a walk-in-and-walk-around-and-keep-grandma-in-there-if-necessary closet.  And the master bathroom has both a shower and a bathtub.  Make that a Bathtub.  A Very Large Bathtub. 

And the laundry room is also upstairs, be still my heart, but if that weren’t enough in itself, it has a front-loading washing machine. 

Sigh.

Sugar Daddy knows how I’ve longed for a front-loading washing machine, for oh so many years, and he has assured me that I shall never have one, as they are too expensive to ever pay for themselves.  Never mind the fact that they use less water, are more efficient, clean your clothes better, wear out your clothes more slowly, and allow you to wash your bedspread in your own home because there’s no agitator–in other words, never mind the fact that they’re awesome–they simply do not meet his price-to-good ratio specifications.  So fine, there are certainly worse deprivations, said the woman with her own car, indoor plumbing and housekeepers that came fortnightly.  I was happy enough with my perfectly serviceable, extra-large capacity Kenmore top-loader in the laundry room next to the garage and my bedspread that got washed every eight months whether it needed it or not–but now I am going to be living and doing laundry in a perfectly laid out upstairs with a front-loading washing machine and enough closet space to house our collective wardrobes twice again.  The temptation to covet is almost more than I can bear to resist.

I’m like a heterosexual man who’s been married several years to a very nice and reasonably attractive woman who may have put on a few pounds of late and needs a boob job one of these days, but being that she is the mother of his children and a decent cook and loyal spouse, he can honestly say he has no regrets.  Visiting other people’s nicer-than-mine homes is like going to the beach and seeing all the hot young babes in bikinis–I can look but I can’t touch, and that is okay because I am a happily married man who knows there’s more to life than buxom bikini babes.  Also, I know those buxom bikini babes aren’t particularly interested in my paunchy belly, slightly balding head and hair starting to grow out of my ears, even if I do make six figures, but that’s another story.  That’s visiting other people’s homes.  Sure, their carpet is newer and their washer doesn’t have an agitator, but my back yard is bigger and my walls are prettier colors.  I can be content.  

But actually living, for several weeks, in this house of the awesome upstairs and spacious closets and laundry room with front-loading washer–it’s like going to the beach without my dear wife of blah-blah years and having one of those hot bikini babes walk up to me and say, “Excuse me, sexy balding man who makes six figures–would you please rub suntan lotion on my perfectly toned body?  Do you mind if I go topless?  Did I mention that I’m a nymphomaniac?”  I know I should turn and run the other way, but you see the strength of character that requires?  I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to live here and remain my content, unspoiled self unless I spend the entire time blindfolded and have my laundry sent out.

Well, this whole experience has been an exercise in character building.  This is just one more opportunity to become a better person.  Last week my friend was joking with me about the possibility of liking the rental house so much better that I’ll try to talk SD into buying it.  I thought that scenario highly unlikely, but I imagine that for the next several weeks I’ll be repeating the following mantra to myself on a daily basis:

Our real house has a much bigger back yard.
In our much bigger back yard is a brand-new play structure that cost a lot of money and a lot of man hours to build.
We can always add on above the garage.
There is no way in hell I am moving again.

And I will just be very grateful that I’m blessed with such sweet accommodations during my time of displacement, and that I am no longer in a hotel.

I may not be so grateful that I have to do dishes again.  But, you know, baby steps.