January 16, 2013 by benmblackman
‘We’re going to get our kitchen done,’ but that’s another story.
Before then we have been dealing with the plethora of builders, plumbers, electricians, plasterers and carpenters involved in such a situation. And, as if they weren’t troublesome enough, we even have to buy the kitchen apparently.
We went to a place where they sell them at the weekend. What else would you do? Unwind? Relax? Enjoy ourselves? Not us.
‘How much does that cost then?’ I asked assuming it wasn’t the most difficult question, this being a shop.
‘I can’t really tell you.’
Hang on a minute, I thought I was in a shop, not Spooks.
‘So, you can’t tell me how much that would cost?’
‘No, not until we’ve done the full site survey and measured up.’
‘But what if I’ve already measured and know exactly which units I want?’
‘Lots of things.’
Oh fuck off. I hope you know I don’t swear much on my blog but this warranted it. Suffice to say, like all good News of the World reporters, we made our excuses and left. (I didn’t say those words, out loud anyway).
I don’t know if you’ve ever gone kitchen shopping with:
1) Me (not hugely into kitchens, shopping or mixing the two when we really can’t afford either);
2) A hungry wife (they pretend they’re just tired but they’re hungry really. The diet that, at some stage we must presume will make them happier, has meant full starvation from 7am to mid-afternoon so, right now, they’re unhappy with their current weight and the fact they are ready to faint with hunger);
3) My 3 year old daughter.
You know of my reward chart success but, even I (call me Super Daddy) am unable to control a child in a warehouse featuring over 3,137 cupboard doors, 123 spinning stools, 79 taps, and 113 cookers. Soft close mechanisms? Yeah right.
If you haven’t been blessed enough to shop with us in such a situation, lucky you. We entered the second kitchen selling emporium and, whilst trying to control said 3 year old, I was approached by a friendly member of staff. To be fair, she did look fairly normal compared to the rest. I don’t know if there was a charity fundraising theme of pimps & hoes that day but it looked like it! She approached, ‘Hello, are you ok?’
‘Yes thanks.’ I replied politely. (Lying.)
I hoped that would be the end of it. I turned away and tried to ensure I conveyed via my body language that this was somebody she should approach no more (I was ‘ok.’ I had clearly told her this).
‘Would you like any help?’
‘No thank you.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Not really.’ (Unless you fancy looking after the kid for a couple of hours maybe? There’s a cinema just across the road and I’d love to see that new film with my wife.)
‘We’re just browsing.’ Surely that would get rid of her, I hoped.
‘Have you seen anything you like?’
Mrs B laughed about this with me later (I’d fed her by then). ‘That was a bit abrupt wasn’t it?’
I explained that, due to sleep deprivation the night before (the kid), severe dehydration (we had only had 7 cups of coffee to keep awake by this stage) and trying to concentrate on 3 things at once:
1) 3 year old daughter – at that point swinging from a bar stool so high she really should have had a safety harness on, plus she was just pretending to pour herself a glass of wine from a real empty wine bottle into real wine glasses – note plural – resting on a counter top);
2) Whether or not, indeed, I did like any of these kitchens or not (I knew my wife would be testing me shortly and the, ‘you’re best at this, you decide, I just want whatever you want,’ line was beginning to wear off.
3) Some woman continuing to ask me questions on an ongoing basis when I had clearly tried to (politely) get rid of her.
Due to all of these 3 things occurring at once, my pretend polite answer was not forthcoming. It sounded disingenuous but, in fact, was the truth. No, I had not seen anything I liked to that point, and probably wouldn’t if she kept me here, in front of this monstrosity of a contradiction of a: two-tone, tan & beige, gloss effect, wooden, mdf, traditional, contemporary style they apparently called a kitchen.
‘Come on, we’re going,’ I told the Kid.
‘I’m just finishing my drink,’ she replied as she poured herself another make believe glass of wine and toasted the shop. ‘Cheers.’
Perhaps she was the sensible one. It’d drive anyone to drink, even a 3 year old apparently.
‘Shall we just leave it and stick with our current kitchen?’ I asked my wife as we drove to shop number 3.
‘If you want to get divorced.’
To be fair, it might be a cheaper option!