Romance at the Hardware Store

If you send a writer to Home Depot, she’ll wander around the gleaming bathtub beauties, imagining the depth she could add to her stories if only she possessed the proper bathroom haven. And there, with luster and charm, the claw foot tub of her dreams will invite her, ever so boldly, to climb in and relax. Its white, cast iron mold will envelope her like a down comforter. It will be rich; it will be beautiful. It will give her promises of a future full of bestselling novels, of lavish book parties, and of envious peers. And also promises of a future full of soap scum. And if you really want her to invest in the tub, you’ll bring her a glass of Prosecco and give her a little privacy, please.

If you send a writer to Home Depot, she’ll scamper to toward the cabinet hardware aisle where the stainless steel finish on a particular set of nickel knobs will mesmerize her to a degree of fortitude. Those knobs will entice her with potential, with hope. They will speak of the achievements that come from pulling desk drawers with confidence. They will guarantee a new level of security that comes from writing in a serene, creative space. They will make life easy and utterly attainable.

If you send a writer to Home Depot, the excitement now pounding from the life she could be living will cause her to lose her footing on the concrete floor. Her legs will slide in different directions and her body will drop to the cold, hard surface. In her effort to stop such an embarrassing landing, she’ll lunge and grasp for something—anything—to right the wrong of the calamitous fall. Paint rollers will fall, brushes will swing, a bucket will roll down the aisle and hit her on the head as it passes by.

And there on the floor of aisle 9, she’ll lie in her cloud of potential achievement and success, and realize she may have just found love.

 

This post was not sponsored by Home Depot. But maybe now it should be.

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