Meet the Kraus Commercial Style Pre-Rinse Chrome Kitchen Faucet. The current front runner for our new kitchen.
I spent almost a decade waking up and running along the ocean in my old neighborhood and because of that, I became pretty familiar with a lot of the seaside homes, and the people who lived in them. I also came to know the beach patrol fairly well, who I was constantly dodging tickets from for illegally having dogs on the sand, but that's an entirely different story.
One of the families that I always recognized on my beach route was a couple with a very young daughter and a golden retriever. They lived in a modest 1960s ranch with an entire wall of sliding glass doors that opened up to the beach. The home was situated fairly privately from their vantage point, but if you happened to be near the water looking back at their house, the glass wall created almost a stage-like picture window and glancing at their home felt kind of like watching a movie. It didn't help that their family looked straight out of a catalog or a television series, all blonde flowing hair and golden tans and the kind of laughing where you throw your head back and open your mouth in a Julia Roberts wide smile. At the time, I had assumed that they were one of the 934 trust fund babies in the neighborhood, since they traipsed around the house in linen and never seemed like they had anywhere to be. But now I'm not so sure, since I realize, that's probably what most people assume of Andrew and I.
Most mornings I'd run past while the sun was rising, and they would have the sliding doors all opened up. The little girl would be perched at the dining room table eating a bowl of whole grain whatever and chattering happily with her mother. Mom would be standing at the sink doing the dishes, and Dad was always sunk into a big, white, comfy looking lounge chair in the living room parked in front of the morning news.
It just so happens that Mom used a faucet that looked just like this one. I noticed it every day when I ran past, and I always thought to myself, When I buy the right place, I'm going to get that kitchen faucet.
One morning, I noticed that something was awry.
I knew this because as I started approaching the house, there were two beach chairs plunked in the sand, buried by a couple of blankets and pillows. The pre-school age blonde was groggy and holding an open box of sugary cereal that was so large that it covered nearly her entire body except for her head. The box appeared to be trying to eat her arm. Dad sat next to her, and he looked exhausted.
It's not that this was such an odd scene in and of itself, but we're talking about The Catalog Family, with the Mother who looked like a supermodel while washing the dishes and had a four year old, whose hair was always perfectly combed into ribbons and pig tails, who recited the alphabet and accomplished basic arithmetic before even the sun awoke. Every single day.
"I need a bowl. Mommy always gives me a bowl."
"Well Mommy's not here. Just eat it like that. It doesn't taste different with a bowl."
"I need a booowwwlllllllllllllll!"
Next, I saw Dad bolt through the sliding glass doors and grab something out of the sink. I saw him turn the faucet on, saw the unrestricted pull-out nozzle wiggle like a snake and then I saw it unload a small lake of water onto his shorts.
The last thing I saw was him return to the still howling Goldi-locks, who began squealing and wriggling with delight at the sight of her father's little, ahem, accident. She pointed and shrieked, "You peed in your pants, Papa!"
And I thought to myself, Yes, I am going to get that kitchen faucet.