That Sinking Feeling

After much hardship and spousal suffering, I’m forced to share the good news. The bathroom sink has landed, and not a moment too soon. There were many hurdles involved. The term “tile guy” was uttered once or twice. There was more cursing, of course, more blood loss, more Band Aids peeled for the cause.

The new sink arrived last Wednesday, or should I say, both new sinks arrived. Yes, hubby ordered two, even though the sink I call mine is perfectly fine in every way. Not a crack in the porcelain. Flawless. Naturally, the new sinks are the wrong size. They’re one-sixteenth of an inch too large. One-sixteenth may not sound like much, but trust me on this, size matters.

On top of that, the color is wrong. The sink I call mine, the original that sits, blissfully undisturbed at the end of the counter, away from all the trouble, is beige. The new sink is bisque. Beige. Bisque. They sound so similar, don’t they? And yet, sadly, they’re shades apart. I asked myself, could two, ever-so-slightly mismatched sinks, get along? Could they share the same marble and not crack under the stress? Could they live in harmony? Why the heck not? It’s not like, God forbid, we’ve got potential buyers tracking mud through the house, saying nasty things like, “I can’t buy this dump; the sinks in the upstairs bathroom don’t match.” No, that isn’t the case, at all. It’s just us in there, brushing our teeth and washing our hands. Outside visitors aren’t welcome.

Over the phone, I issued strict orders to my husband. “Don’t even think about it.” “Think about what?” he asked. “You know what,” I said. “No, I don’t,” he said. “Yanking the other sink out. My sink.” “But the sinks don’t match and – ”  I cut him off right there. “I can live with it. It doesn’t matter. No one will notice, unless you point it out, which I know you will, so don’t.” On the other end, he put on his soothing, late-night deejay voice. “It’ll be fine. I promise. It’ll take 10 minutes to install.”  Where had I heard that before? Where had I gone wrong? Had I not made myself clear?

Before Mr. Fix-it got home and got busy, shaving off marble, about a sixteenth of an inch, to be exact, I launched a clever counter-attack. I called the woman who gave birth to him and appealed to her sense of decency. “You’ve got to help me,” I told my mother-in-law. “You’ve got to help me stop him before it’s too late.”  Together, we hatched a plan where my father-in-law, the original Fix-It Man, would call Howard at exactly 7:30, and tell him he knew the perfect tile guy for the job. It wouldn’t cost much and he could save himself all the aggravation.  The time came and went without the phone call. I could hear the power saw shaving away marble as I sat downstairs, stewing. Why hadn’t my father-in-law called? Had I not made myself clear?

The next day, I found out that a touching father-son exchange had taken place. My father-in-law couldn’t wait and called him at work. He said everything, just as we’d rehearsed, to no avail. By Sunday, hubby had installed the sink and figured out how to stop it from leaking, too. A new sink may look nice, but isn’t worth much if you can’t run the water.  An hour later, he declared victory. “I told you I’d do it,” he said. “Yes, you did,” I said. Oh, but it’s not over, not at all. I’ve got that sinking feeling that there’s more to come. There’s the issue of that extra sink, taking up space in the downstairs shower. Just this morning, Howard visited the extra sink in its temporary holding cell.

“Come on, it won’t take that long,” he said to me, flashing those cute puppy eyes. “If I can just get your sink out without it cracking, then I can put it in the downstairs bathroom, because that sink is cracked too… see? And then I can put the new sink in and put yours in the powder room and – ”  “No,” I said. I meant it, too. “No,” I said again, in case he didn’t hear me. He wanted to remove two sinks now, mine and the cracked one in the powder room?  OMG times ten. But let’s face it, it’s happening, whether I like it or not. Because in my house, when it comes to sinks, it’s pretty caulked-up.