By Rebecca Kilby
Special to The Citizen

It is a miracle we own a single stick of furniture.

It is amazing that we have painted even one wall in our home.

I am shocked that we have curtains at all.

Why? Well, my husband and I have completely divergent ideas on basically anything home related. He would be happy if everything from utensils to sofas were made out of wood (he shrinks into a corner and shakes if I mention painting any type of unfinished furniture). I tend to be a bit more…shall we say…eclectic.
Everything has been a negotiation, from the location of our bookshelf to what paint finish to use on the crown molding. We have even “traded” home décor rights – I got the paint color I wanted in one room if he got to put a man chair in there. Of course I had my input on the color of the recliner, so I came out a hair ahead on that one.

Last year, when we found ourselves in need of a large dining room table and chairs for our impending holiday guests, we hopped from store to store debating, negotiating, bargaining. No, not with salespeople, rather with each other. We settled on the table he wanted and the chairs I wanted with neither of us totally satisfied, but resigned to our choice.

Marriage is about compromise, right?

So you can imagine my surprise when I discovered that my husband and I had separately picked out the same tile for our bathroom that we were spiffing up. I had come home from a trip to our usual home improvement store, beyond thrilled that I had found the most perfect tile ever created. It was a light green tile that looked like milk glass from the 50s – a perfect fit for my retro obsession. I was sure I was in for months of discussion about this one. When I mentioned I had found the perfect tile, my husband insisted that no, he had found the perfect tile and proceeded to describe the exact same tile I had fallen in love with.

It was the perfect storm, people – an extremely rare occurrence.

Bolstered by this obvious sign we decided to head out and pick some up. This is where irony reared its ugly head. We headed to our local big box store where this magical tile had been sighted and saw that there weren’t any more; even the display board had disappeared. Surely there must be some at another location, right? Nope. The sales clerk knew the tile I was talking about but didn’t know the brand name and guaranteed that they weren’t getting anymore in.
We decided to try an independent tile company that specializes in unique tiles. We headed to their location – no luck, nothing even close. Then on to another tile store, and another, and another. Hours passed, frustration grew, growling and grumbling occurred. We decided to try another branch of the big box store – you know, just in case.

We’re suckers for punishment after all.

At the second big box store the clerk vividly remembered the tile but couldn’t recall the brand name. He seemed certain that it was from a one time drop shipment from some random Italian tile company. Frustrated beyond belief, I headed home to hit the web – after all you can find anything online, right? I found a few comparable tiles that were only available by mail order and pretty expensive. I kept searching, but it seemed as though the tiles just weren’t meant to be - perhaps the perfect storm had simply blown over.

Two weeks later we headed back to our usual home improvement store for a few supplies. While waiting to talk to a sales clerk I happened to flip through their special order book in the tile section.

Um…wow, those look an awful lot like…no, they can’t be….those are the tiles! They are easily orderable, and made by their biggest American tile supplier.

Italian drop shipment? Not quite.

As steam poured out of my ears, I called my husband over to take a look. I saw a blood vessel on his forehead bulge and heard him mutter a few choice words. What were these sales clerks talking about? The hours spent searching, the time spent trying to come up with a new idea that made us half as happy as the original one, the freaking gas that we wasted driving all over Atlanta! As the sales clerk approached asking if she could help, I tried to formulate a way to express how aggravated and irritated we were.
“Uh…how quickly can we get these delivered?”

I know, I am a wuss, but when the tides change it is best not to fight it.

After all, it could be another 10 years before my husband and I agree on anything home related again.

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