19 September 2010

5 steps to fancy

This weekend, ye olde hubby and I enjoyed an annual tradition in our town called the Parade of Homes. I don't know if other cities have these or not, but it is just so much fun.

Basically what happens is this:

Some rich people hire rich builders to build big fancy houses for them and then they decorate them real pretty like and clean them up to look like nobody's every actually lived there (which is true in some cases). And then they open them up to the (paying) public and probably go on expensive weekend trips while most of the surrounding area's population tramps through their house in paper booties.

The part about the expensive weekend trips is something totally from my imagination, but it could happen.

Either way, the whole thing really caters to my voyeuristic tendencies. And I mean that in the least creepy way possible.

Anyway, so all of this fanciness has me thinking about fancy things and how I can become more fancy because, as we all know... I am all about velvet ropeyness.

I've done some research and here's what I've come up with so far:

1. Put adhesive plastic on all of my carpet.

Why is this fancy? Well, I'm sure in the big, new, fancy houses, they put down adhesive plastic on the carpet in an attempt to keep hicks like the hubby and myself from tracking stuff all over their carpet (with our paper booties?) while also letting us know in a subtle sort of way where we're allowed to walk.

I should interject here, and please try not to be too impressed, that I do indeed live in a 25+ year old house (paneling and macrame planter hooks included) with original carpet in some areas, so needless to say, I am not overly concerned with keeping said carpets pristine.

No, I have another reason for the adhesive plastic. A much better reason.

Because walking on it feels a lot like walking on bubble wrap.

Totally awesome. And decidedly fancy.

2. Put a faucet over my stove.

Oh, sure there are no water hook-ups there, but who's to know?

3. Rip all the covers off my books or turn them inside out and bind them in stacks with twine or ribbon.

Ok... this one I really don't get. Is this some kind of Martha Stewart/Pottery Barn/uniformity/prettiness factor thing going on here? If anybody knows, please inform me. It was actually sorda cool looking, but hubby won't let me do it. I already asked.

4. Build a separate wing for my children.

There weren't really any separate wings in the homes we toured this year, but I was surprised at how far away people put the master bedroom from their children's rooms. On different floors even! The humanity! You mean people actually sleep separately from their kids? You mean people actually keep their identities? And their sanity? And any hope of normal life ever again?


I digress.

5. Buy something like this for Le Bebe...

Yes, that's a crib. And for a cool $4, 000... it can be yours.

Yes, $4,000.

No, the horses aren't included.

Nor is the promise that you're daughter will marry into royalty.

And I don't know if it turns into a pumpkin at midnight.

We went for the chic, the simple, the traditional, the hand-me-down 100% totally free style of crib. And considering neither of our children slept a single night EVER in it, I'm really glad we decided against the Cinderella-mobile.

I've totally veered from the home tour, but this looks sorda like something you would see in one of those houses... and let's face it, if people are going to heat and air condition their barn, a $4,000 baby crib wouldn't really surprise me at all.


I'm sure some people would read all of this as sour grapes or some kind of jealousy. Sure, I would love to be able to have all of the pretty things I've ever wanted to look at every day. I'm not ashamed to admit that.

But jealous? Oh, no.

Our house may be small in comparison. It may be older. It may lack all the attention to detail and all of the special touches. It has numerous flaws. It has missing paint and spots on the carpet. It's dusty and cluttered and fingerprint smudged. It doesn't sit on a ridge overlooking hundreds of sprawling acres. It doesn't have a grand staircase or a breathtaking balcony or a theater room. The trashcans and tooth brushes are out in plain sight, for heaven's sake...

But it's home.

And it has some of the best views I've ever seen.

See what I mean?


Jo Ellen September 20, 2010 at 9:15 AM  

HA! I love it! You're such a good writer.