I have been having a few things repaired and upgraded around the house the past couple of months
. One has been the back bathroom. New floor tile, new comfort height terlet, as Archie Bunker would call it, cracks repaired from the house settling and soon, new paint to match the tile, new shower curtain and window drapes (I'm not rich enough to have "window treatments" like on TV redesign shows).
Last night at dinner with my brother and his family and our sister and her grown daughter and son, I joked about getting some crime scene tape from my nephew, the police officer
, and putting it across this bathroom's door when the painting is completed to keep anyone from using it
. When asked why, I responded that this was going to be the "good" bathroom.
You know, like when our Moms always had the "good" scissors we were not allowed to use? Or the "good" china and silverware, "good" linens, bedsheets and tablecloths that all never saw the light of day unless company came for dinner or for an overnight visit? And, no, visiting family members didn't rank high enough to warrant pulling out and displaying the "good" things.
Then we had our "good" clothes for church
and for the rare occasions when we went out to dinner at a real restaurant with white cloth napkins and tablecloths and waitresses and waiters. To our "going to church clothes" we always had to add our "good" shoes. Of course, later while in the Army this was a good thing. The smart ones among us kept a pair of freshly spit-shined dress uniform shoes in cloth shoe covers for inspections so they wouldn't get scratched or dirty.
There was also the matter of Dad's tools. We could use what we needed -- screwdrivers, hammers, etc., as long as we didn't use his "good" tools, heaven forbid. If we did, our bottoms would be sore for the rest of the day.
One day I used a thermos to put lemonade in, tossed it in the basket on the front of my bike and went wherever it was I was going
. When I stopped, the thermos flew out of the basket and crashed to the concrete, shattering the glass-like coating inside and making the thermos unusable. I thought little about it, being a kid and all, but when I got home I caught the dickens from both Mom and Dad because it had been...the "good" thermos.
The last thing I will need for the remodeled bathroom is a new scale.
But I have decided that, based on the indoctrination I received during my formative years, that neither I nor anyone else will ever use it.
Because it will be my "good" scale. And we all know we never use our "good" things, don't we?