I Wish My Bathroom Vanity Was Standard Height For A Bathroom

Have you ever had one of those days where you realize life really would just be a whole lot better if someone did everything for you? Or, rather, in stead of you?

Remember that Talking Heads movie where that woman was so rich she never had to get out of bed? That's who I wished I was on Saturday. In fact, I'm sure the world would be a better place for us all.

It wasn't like last Saturday was different from any other. My To Do list was almost exactly the same as my To Do list of the previous weekend. That might be comforting to some, but not so much to me, considering that is my life. I'm starting to realize my To Do list really is just a Wish list.

What the hell, maybe I should just change the title of the list to All The Things I Didn't Get Done and readjust my ideas of what I should feel a sense of accomplishment about. I'm starting to understand why my mother always started her To Do lists with "GET UP, TAKE SHOWER, WASH HAIR" and I'm starting to think she was on to something.

Let me explain how this started.

We have not had a sink in our downstairs bathroom for more than six months and finally, Saturday, it was installed. This would be great except the salesperson, when she placed the order, failed to take into consideration that a shorter vanity was needed to accommodate a vessel sink. As a result, I have to warn you ahead of time, practicing universal precautions in my downstairs powder room will require a step stool.

The salesperson said, "I thought you wanted standard kitchen height." I said, "It's a bathroom." She said, "Yes, but these cabinets don't come in a shorter size." I said, "I wish I knew that."

Is your first reaction, "Big deal, stuff like that happens to everybody at some point...?"

No. No, don't even go there. At this point, I am so intimately familiar with the laws of If You Want To Get Something Done Assume That It Will Be Wrong And There Will Be a Fight First And You Will Wish Someone Else Had Taken Care Of It.

I so wish that someone would offer a conference on How To Wish Harder And Better So Your Dreams Of Getting Something Done, and Done Right, Can Come True because at this point, I believe it is my only hope.

Here's a snapshot of some of my experiences from the past year.

I was sued by a painter who left me with chipping and peeling paint. I so wish I had fired him on the first day when I had to point out that he had primed over picture hooks and Scotch tape that was left on the wall.

I had a fight with a furniture store over a couch that aged 10 years in 2 weeks (no, not because my dog was on it).

At work, I got into a squabble with an ad agency which sent me stuff riddled with typos and when I pointed it out, I got a sarcastic apology for trying to save me money by not proof reading. The owner also made fun of me on her blog (by the way, the economy looks great from my seat).

I paid a woman to make slipcovers for my dining room chairs and then she moved to Florida...with my fabric.

I had my hair cut by someone who had been recommended to me for years and walked away with a mullet.

I tipped a guy $3 at a fish counter for not spitting on the fish he cut and wrapped for me (which really doesn't have much to do with my point except to illustrate that I am desperate when it comes to trying to close out a transactional relationship without first getting into a fight).

I have therefore, logically concluded that "wishing" is my only recourse. I have carefully experimented with asking, demanding, paying, and praying. None of them work. Sometimes worrying works, because I've noticed when I worry the most, it turns out I had nothing to worry about at all -- but that's usually over stupid stuff like whether I'll accidentally find myself holding a toaster while standing in a tub of water. For some reason.

...So, the WISHING conference could be offered at a spa, preferably someplace warm, and I will invite my friends, who are also sick of hearing my stories and wishing I would shut up.

The other day, I asked one of my friends to tell me who cuts her hair and after a short silence she said, "No. No, I'm not going to tell you, because you'll wreck it."