We’ve been home now for two months, very much settled back in. And with the full refund of our security deposit on our wooden structure in Veldhoven, I am re-publishing one of my entries that caused undue distress and embarrassment to the owner of said structure! Without further ado…
With a delicate ‘ping’, I realized that I’d finally done it. I’d managed to inadvertently break the last of the 16 wine glasses in this house. Feeling a kind of shrill admiration, I realized it was my father-in-law’s wife’s fault. Visiting for ten days, she thoughtlessly left behind an outstanding bottle of red (Hardy’s Shiraz), when she and my father-in-law left yesterday for Brussels.
With a delicate ‘ping’, I realized that I’d finally done it. I’d managed to inadvertently break the last of the 16 wine glasses in this house. Feeling a kind of shrill admiration, I realized it was my father-in-law’s wife’s fault. Visiting for ten days, she thoughtlessly left behind an outstanding bottle of red (Hardy’s Shiraz), when she and my father-in-law left yesterday for Brussels.
You may be thinking that 16 broken wine glasses in 72 days is a bit excessive, (or you might be thinking “what? You can’t ignore a bottle of Hardy’s?”) but let me point out a crucial fact. This house is full of distressing, cheap-ass, knock-offs from Ikea.
I’m not asking for Waterford crystal here, but for the rent we pay you’d expect that the wine glasses wouldn’t break if you pour the wine in too fast. Also, given the state of this little house, one feels the need to at least ‘self-medicate’ with any means possible which, when you think about it, only increases the risk of accidents. Scarf, who got dripped on today (coffee – in the car), is in total agreement. Calling a miserable 4x4 cubby home, he/she/it fortunately doesn’t spend much time there as, three months into our adventure, Scarf has only been released from duty on two occasions when the sun briefly came out and the temperatures soared into the single digits. Anyway, back to the glasses. I have to say that a good 8 or 9 of those goblets met their maker via the circular, 8-inch diameter, stainless steel kitchen sink. When you set them on the bottom, the tops stick out above the counter surface and are easily whacked by the faucet (and whacked just for the hell of it). One more met his maker when I dropped it on the fake wooden floor.
The inventory list for this furnished townhouse, when we moved, in was painstakingly detailed. It included a ‘water cooker’ (leaks, no safety turn-off), a little plastic, flexible bread board (the kind I hate), eight used bath towels (as if!!!!) and, um, 16 brittle wine glasses. Not included on the list were unwashed bed linen, toddler clothes (stuffed under a pillow, and left behind in the dryer), a half inch layer of dust that blanketed everything. The kitchen faucet, unbeknownst to us, drained straight into the garage – pity we left our ice-skates behind. One more peeve, the refrigerator is so small that, if filled to capacity, it wouldn’t keep a kitten alive.
We’ve filled the place with oxygen-replenishing plants, tossed a few throws around, ceremoniously discarded the bed linen (and someone’s clothes), and continue to guzzle the red stuff. We escape every weekend – and this one found us back in Maastricht, under a sunny sky (yes – SUN).
I’m not asking for Waterford crystal here, but for the rent we pay you’d expect that the wine glasses wouldn’t break if you pour the wine in too fast. Also, given the state of this little house, one feels the need to at least ‘self-medicate’ with any means possible which, when you think about it, only increases the risk of accidents. Scarf, who got dripped on today (coffee – in the car), is in total agreement. Calling a miserable 4x4 cubby home, he/she/it fortunately doesn’t spend much time there as, three months into our adventure, Scarf has only been released from duty on two occasions when the sun briefly came out and the temperatures soared into the single digits. Anyway, back to the glasses. I have to say that a good 8 or 9 of those goblets met their maker via the circular, 8-inch diameter, stainless steel kitchen sink. When you set them on the bottom, the tops stick out above the counter surface and are easily whacked by the faucet (and whacked just for the hell of it). One more met his maker when I dropped it on the fake wooden floor.
The inventory list for this furnished townhouse, when we moved, in was painstakingly detailed. It included a ‘water cooker’ (leaks, no safety turn-off), a little plastic, flexible bread board (the kind I hate), eight used bath towels (as if!!!!) and, um, 16 brittle wine glasses. Not included on the list were unwashed bed linen, toddler clothes (stuffed under a pillow, and left behind in the dryer), a half inch layer of dust that blanketed everything. The kitchen faucet, unbeknownst to us, drained straight into the garage – pity we left our ice-skates behind. One more peeve, the refrigerator is so small that, if filled to capacity, it wouldn’t keep a kitten alive.
We’ve filled the place with oxygen-replenishing plants, tossed a few throws around, ceremoniously discarded the bed linen (and someone’s clothes), and continue to guzzle the red stuff. We escape every weekend – and this one found us back in Maastricht, under a sunny sky (yes – SUN).
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