My husband declares we are ruining the environment, we have too much stuff, and are using more of the earth’s resources than 5,000 people from a third-world country. He’s determined to downsize. We happen to live in a comfortable, spacious apartment. I warn him that studies conclude that putting too many monkeys in an overly confined space causes them to tear each other to pieces. He’s not paying attention. We are too materialistic, says he, who owns enough golf shirts and clubs for fifty players. I give in, hoping to get him off this kick, putting his energies back into the small space of our conjugal bed which needs more action.
He saw a show on YouTube about environmentally friendly, Tiny Houses, and decided this is the way to go, we will do our part to save the earth. Maybe everyone is feeling guilty, hence the popularity of insanely choosing to live like a couple of bears in a den. The only way they don’t kill each other is by sleeping 24/7, at least we’d be in a bed that way. So, we find an advertisement for a 300-square-foot house with a sleeping loft. We race to see it and jump on it without much thought. It’s so dammed cute, we plunk down the money right away.
We throw a lavish going away party in our living room, which is the size of our new house, to tell our friends about our earth-saving move. They look at us as though we have just received a prison sentence. All bets are on for how long our marriage will last.
Reality sets in as we attempt to divest ourselves of years of stuff, most of which is actually worthless. My husband can’t throw away his sacred collection of beer mugs and a secret stash of porn. I can’t get rid of my mother’s dishes, or the paintings done by my cousin, until it dawns on me that the tiny house has almost no wall space. To stave off claustrophobia, it’s all windows, just great for voyeurs
After many polite conversations, that led to heated arguments, that lead to swearing shouting matches, that lead to the tugging of objects, and threats of,
“I’m calling, I’ve Got Junk”,
or
“ I’m calling a lawyer”,
we decide to stick it out together. The tiny house awaits, plus, we rent a storage unit the size of Montana.
First Day – The living room has a small chair and sofa made for people who are a lot more sensible about food and drink than we are, a 1950s size TV, and a table for two, no entertaining allowed. Forget the king-size bed. We throw a double-size mattress on the floor of the loft, which is reached by a few circular, treacherous open steps.
First Night – I have to pee so badly, I slip down the short flight of steps, landing on my butt, the toilet no longer needed. I try to suppress violent visions of doing bodily harm to my environmentally conscious husband.
Second Day – I’m cooking dinner on a stove that is much like the play one we got our daughter when she was five years old. My husband keeps bumping into me to get his nightly glasses of scotch, totally getting on my nerves.
Third Day – All day and night Sunday football is blasting, there is no escape. I curl up in a fetal position on our still-chaste mattress on the floor. Our tiny house is giving us way too much togetherness, but not the right kind.
Fourth day – I invite two girlfriends to see our adorable energy-saving house. They leave in hysterics, after hearing my husband’s noises coming from the tiny bathroom only inches away.
Fifth Day – Time to do the laundry. The washer is so small it holds two pairs of underpants as long as they aren’t boxers. I wonder if there is a stream nearby where I can pound my clothes clean with a rock?
Sixth Day – He has to have a five-hour Zoom call for work, I go to the movies, beginning to feel homeless and pissed off.
Seventh Day – Just a week, I’m losing it, so in an effort at conciliation, I offer an ultimatum.
It boils down to two choices, either get divorced, or he has to change his mind about living like we are 10,000 pounds of potatoes crammed into a crate for 1,000 pounds. I think he secretly agrees that life has become hell, but he hates to admit he’s wrong. Unfortunately, he suggests that we buy two tiny houses and put them together. He must be out of his freaking mind! I’m out of that tiny miserable little door before he can protest. Let him save a few cents on electricity and save the world, I’ll save my sanity!
PS. Someone from the party, George, won a pot full of money. He bet we would only last a week, smart man.
