So the other day I’m at my friend Jameson’s house, which may
possibly be one of the nicest houses I’ll ever step inside unless I get so poor
that I have to resort to some B and E—highly possible if I continue my Ebay
shopping addiction. Think Barbie’s Dream House, but with less pink and more
naturally sized humans. Although I must say that Jame could give that blonde
plastic betch a run for her money boob-wise. As usual, I’m trying to cook some
bacon, so I mosey my way over to wear I know the microwave should be, because
not only does this family have a normal state-of-the-art fridge, they have two
other separate crispers, a mini fridge, a garage fridge, a guest fridge, a
built-in microwave and oven. I get to the cabinets, bacon in hand, and stare
blankly at my options. Jame, now taking notice of my struggle shouts out “Jesus
it’s the top one, you idiot.” So helpful.
Now comes the tricky part. First off, this thing has like 30
buttons with numbers and letters and mathematical symbols to the point where
you basically have to crack a code before being able to shoot electromagnetic
waves at your snack. I go to push in 4 minutes on the pad but I’m not even sure
I can do that because this thing was so advanced—like seriously NASA doesn’t
even have this technology. Jame, clearly frustrated by my inability to work
this God damn time machine starts rattling off instructions like “Press ‘Time,’
now ‘Up,’ ‘Up’ again, ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ turn the knob—more—MORE…’Down,’ ‘Down’…”Bacon,’
‘Start.’ God it’s not that difficult.”
Yeah, that was a breeze.
Finally I look at her, now with my bacon safely cooking away
in the microwave, and give her my most impressive “I want stab you with a
sharp, shiny kitchen utensil” face, not to be confused with my “I want to
string you up and hang you from a tree like my daddy’s dears” face. All that
for four pieces of bacon? Who wants to have a high end microwave that makes you
wait twenty minutes just get my saturated fats?
Even worse, I watched Jameson clean up after a party the
other day and witnessed, literally, the most magical invention thus far in
human civilization. So she is sweeping the floor and making little piles of
dust, crumbs and candy wrappers and placing them on opposite ends of the island
(it’s larger than my bed). She then kicks a little switch where the island
cabinets meet the floor, causing a flap to open which is then accompanied by this
loud noise and then ALL OF THE DIRT IS JUST SUCKED AWAY. It was like a magic
trick or a science fiction movie where the dust is just pulled into oblivion,
never to be seen or heard from again. The whole thing was so baffling, like it
was straight out of Smart House—you know the scene I’m talking about—where the
house tells them to just throw all the trash on the floor and then she just
sucks it into the carpet. It was that level of awe with which I looked at
Jameson. She was like some sort of Dirt Master, yet she looked at me like “Oh
just another days work.” Uhhhhmmm no. That was magic.
Not only do they have a kitchen straight out of Star Trek,
they have seven bathrooms. You know how people say you can tell how affluent a
family is by counting the number of bathrooms in their house? I’m not saying
Jameson’s family is rich, all I’m saying is they have SEVEN. There is literally
a private bathroom in every single corner of the house. You cannot turn a
corner without running straight into one. Even the cat has his own bathroom.
And yet with all these separate bathrooms it is still surprisingly easy to walk
in on someone during their alone time.
You know when you’re hanging out at a friend’s house with
them and their family when suddenly you are like, “where did she go?” I had
that moment a few days ago after Jame and I had returned from the beach and
were at her house. Naturally like the fabulous friend I am, I went looking for
my partner in crime, only to turn a corner run straight into her white arse on
the other side of the shower glass. Seriously though who leaves their room door
and subsequent bathroom door open when taking a shower?
A few weeks prior I had had a similar experience involving
her high school brother. Apparently he hadn’t realized I had slept over in his
brother’s room and fancied going up a flight of steps in order to enjoy the
adjacent shower instead of taking one in the shared bathroom next to his
quarters. Needless to say he kept the door open the whole time, so I got to
turn the other way and pretend to be asleep for a good 40 minutes. At least the
family all has cute butts.
(just kidding Jameson I didn’t look at Little
Muffin)
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