That’s Good Enough

No one does cheap like my Dad.  His house is an encyclopedia of cheap.  He uses interior doors on the exterior of his house.  He found his fireplace screens abandoned on the side of the road.  I once noticed dry-rot on his outside windows.  When I showed him, he said, “I couldn’t find flashing anywhere, so I put another coat of paint on the window trim.  That’s good enough.”

Whenever Charlie and I do a crappy job on something, we’ll say, “That’s good enough.”  Then we’ll laugh and quickly undo the mistake.  If you have to say, “That’s good enough,” it’s not.

Charlie couldn’t end the day today without a trip to the Man-Candy Store: Home Depot.  He needed epoxy for the shower.  If this bathroom he’s creating is going to be civilized, I decided it needed a medicine cabinet, too.  I trust only myself for this design decision.

We divided and conquered upon arrival.  Charlie ran off, excited to hang out in the putty aisle.  I found a medicine cabinet within two or three minutes and dropped it in his cart.  Then, being around so many toilets and sinks on display, I ran off to the ladies’ room.  I love using a bathroom someone else has to clean.

On the way back, I walked by the refrigerators.  Currently, we have a big black upright coffin in our kitchen filled only with soy milk.  It gives us something to complain about.  If we put anything else in there, it freezes regardless of the setting adjustment. 

It’s ugly and we know we have to replace it before we show the house.  We don’t want to make this big of a decision.  We would have to live with it wherever we live next, just like we’re living with the big, black coffin we stupidly bought on sale.  Don’t ever dangle a sale tag in front of me; I end up being blind about everything else.  What was I thinking?

I noticed three appliance sales guys sitting on washers, facing the refrigerators and talking. They’re directly across from a refrigerator, stainless, with a $300 price tag.  I see it but pretend not to.  I keep walking until I find Charlie.  He’s at the register, checking out.

“I found a $300 refrigerator,” I said.  “Stop what you’re doing before it’s sold.”

“Can you hold on a minute?” he told the cashier.  She nodded like she’s done this hundreds of times before.  Maybe there are lots of people who get distracted and have to stop mid-purchase.

I rushed over and pointed to my find.  “This is the cheapest stainless refrigerator you’ll ever see,” I said.  That’s all the information I needed.  I was ready to buy.

“What’s wrong with it?”

An appliance guy appeared from around the corner.  “Nothing if you don’t mind a big ding,” he said.  He pointed to a huge dent in the bottom of the door corner.

“Someone had trouble moving.  It’s a good deal.”

I smiled.  I am victorious.

“Oh, no,” Charlie said.  “I want to get something better than that.  As soon as we buy it, we’ll be thinking about how to get rid of it.”

“Nobody’ll notice,” I said.  “It’s stainless.  It’s the same color as duct tape.  You could tape over it, or better yet, cover it with magnets.”

“It’s going to look awful when we show the house,” he said.  “Magnets?  Down by your feet?”

“It’s good enough,” I said without thinking.  When I heard myself, I heard my Dad.  There will be no $300 refrigerator in my future.

We took our medicine cabinet and epoxy and left.

Charlie decided this was also the time to go to George Morlan Plumbing Supply.  In the back of the truck, unbeknownst to me, he’d loaded the beautiful pedestal sink I’d picked up on my last blinding sale binge.  The foot of the sink was way too big to fit anywhere with a baseboard, hence the sale price.  We have baseboards now, so the sink’s coming back home to George.

“I could waste a lot of time and money trying to force that sink,” Charlie explained, “or I could be smart and get another one.  I’m learning.”

I was too distracted thinking about how dented refrigerators made my Dad come out of my mouth to comment.

Charlie unloaded the pedestal sink while I looked around.  This place has everything a rich person’s plumbing would desire.  I love to walk around and see how much people will pay to pee. 

I noticed Charlie starting to look at the pedestal sinks so I walked over and joined him.  Before I could say anything, a sales clerk came by.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

 “Something cheap,” I said.  “Whatever’s good enough.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Charlie said.  “She wanted to buy a refrigerator with a big dent in it.”

“It was a good deal.”

“These are cheap,” he said.  He pointed to a few pedestal sinks in the shape of a half-shell.  If you know anything about me, you know I don’t go for swirly stuff.

I kept looking and found one for under $100, half the price of my original sale sink.

The clerk went out back to see if he had any in stock.  He was gone for more than a minute, so I started to get bored.  Charlie seemed excited, being a guy, to stand around for an eternity amidst a sea of sinks.

 “I’m bored sh*tless,” I said.  “I’m going to look at expensive stuff.”

I found a small little room covered in dark wood filled with the weirdest bathroom fixtures I’d ever seen this side of HGTV.  I found the fancy shower/tub enclosure that my hero Rachel Reynolds has in her house.  If something’s really nice, Charlie and I now say, “That’s good enough for Rachel.”  Rachel Reynolds is about as opposite of my Dad as you can get.

I noticed the clerk had returned and was talking to Charlie.  I trust Charlie, but I’m nosy.  What could be so exciting about a pedestal sink?

“I made an executive decision,” Charlie said.  “I found this sink on the floor full of dust.  It’s $39.”

“What’s wrong with it?”  I say this as if I’ve never looked at a dented $300 refrigerator in my life.

“Someone returned it without the box,” the clerk said.

“No dents?”

“Nothing wrong with it,” he said.  “We want to get rid of it.”

Charlie seemed proud.  He out-Dad’d me and I have a genetic advantage.  He did it without dents, too. 

Charlie and the clerk talked for a little while.  When the conversation turned to toilet seats, I had to find a reason to excuse myself.

“Standing around all these toilets is making me want to go to the bathroom,” I said.  “Be right back.”

I returned to find them talking about . . . toilet seats.  “We’ll take a couple of your finest $25 plastic models,” Charlie said.  “Nothing but the best for my butt.”

“If you want cheap, we have some $8 ones,” the clerk said.  “They’re painted wood.”

Charlie seemed hesitant, so I spoke up.  “Two of your finest $8 toilet seats, then,” I said.

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” the clerk asked.  “Don’t you want to look at them first?”

A little help? [] 10:39:21 PM