Saturday, December 12, 2009


Back when Architectural Digest was in in its 1980s glory, I read that its managing editor frequently deployed the acronym, "N.F.A.D" - "not for Architectural Digest." (Like maybe, when she was faced with photos of a home owned by a celebrity lower down the food chain than Demi Moore and Bruce Willis).

"N.F.A.D. occurs to me frequently when I am confronted by what some might call bad taste. It occurred to me when I got back to the Last House a week ago and discovered that, in my absence, Whusband had replaced the oak toilet seat (itself a replacement) on our 1950s salmon-colored toilet with a cushiony, white vinyl number - the lid of which is decorated with fish.

We have always been N.F.A.D. around here but in this particular we have shown that we are oh so N.F.A.D.

We burned the oak seat in our outdoor fireplace last weekend. I felt a druidic instinct to say a little thanks to it as it fell into coals. Farewell old friend.

Wouldn't you say it's true: "By their bathrooms ye shall know them?" I'll bet the editor of Architectural Digest would agree.

Believe it or not, I have a lot more I could say about all this (our one bathroom and its rich history), but I have to go make a salad for dinner.

I hate to leave you hanging, but at least now you have a reason to go on living. Come back soon.