I made my way down the hallway, passing framed portrays of pals and family members. When I got to the bar, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the bar mirrors . I read the “fun never ends” quote that is etched on the mirror and wonder. Will it never end? How long can the fun last? It had been a great evening. My pals had come to share some great food and just enough wine to keep us laughing the whole night.
Observing my reflection in the bar mirror and watching the bags under my eyes, I decided to forget about that pre-bed glass of wine. Instead I head to the recliner and switch on HGTV. I found a home improvement show, which has always been relaxing to view. I must have slept as I began to dream. I began to dream shortly. The anchor of the home improvement show was in my house with me, parading around and pointing out the faults. The whole roof is unsafe.” He begins to scrape the roof with his hammer. Holmes grabs slabs of ceiling pieces and chucks them my way. He walked on to next room, leading me around as though I didn’t reside there. Unexpectedly, we were standing in front of the bar in the basement. He looked at it with approval and smiled. “Give me a whisky,” he tells to Holmes. “Well, you appear like you’ re 17 so I will not offer you a whisky,” Holmes snaps back.
We lapped our drinks, admiring the bar. As Holmes begins whipping up the pina colada Genevieve Gorder from HGTV’s “Dear Genevieve” show steps out of the bathroom with a paint roller in one hand, a roll of blue painter’s tape in the other and a fag hanging out of her mouth. Gesturing to the walls, he began to list the colors emerging in mind. The dream shifted gears swiftly, and the next thing I knew, we were standing shoulder to shoulder, painting the walls with oversized paintbrushes. We completed the first wall in short time and moved on to the others, now painting them bright yellow. We pleased ourselves for our quick work with another whiskey on the rocks. “Tequila,” she screams at Holmes, “and why do you two insist on wearing tank tops all the time?”
All of a sudden, I am quite aware that I am in the attendance of a great interior designer, and that my home is not geared up for his critical eye. The lack of Ralph Lauren paint or designer shades was the least of my worries. Even in my dream, I felt shamed at my lack of panache! Again, we were back in my home-based bar. “This bar mirror is great,” she tells. “Is that a glass etching” I told him I had styled the etching particularly for this mirror. “A personalized touch like this custom-build bar mirror really makes this a personal space.” Holmes groans, grabs a chainsaw and cuts my bar in half. We both fended off the sharp fragments. I recognized that I was wearing safety glasses and a hardhat.
A voice cryptically appears out of nowhere. The voiceover expressed, “Will the Johnsons pick the Victorian fixer-upper, the house with the big back yard, or the townhouse with half a bar and striking, individualized bar mirrors?”
I feel a minor shaking feeling and comprehend my wife is standing over me, shaking me by the shoulder. She turned the TV set off. “No, I want to see what house they picked!” I told. She looks at me wonderingly. “Oh, right, on the show…they picked the third one,” she said, still looking a bit perplexed.
As I move back up the stairs I smile knowing it was the sawed off bar and individualized bar mirrors that they couldn’t resist.
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