I’ve become obsessed with tiny houses lately. Tiny as in less than 300 square feet. I’ve lived in studio apartments that were bigger than that, but for some reason, the allure of a tiny house is growing. They seem so efficient and orderly, the kind of zen-like nook you can seek refuge in – whether that refuge is from your demanding and time-sucking family, or a zombie apocalypse.
A visual person at heart, I can while away hours on Pinterest, and there is no better place to indulge my Tiny House love affair. I think my yearn for small-sizing stems from the gut renovation we are doing on our absurdly large and ridiculously old Victorian home. We’re 12 months into blueprints, and CAD drawings, and change orders. Last week at the site meeting we were informed that the plumbing in half the house isn’t up to code.
This of course is only discoverable after you have ripped out all the walls and the floor AND the ceiling. Armed with this latest piece of information, I returned home, opened a bottle of Whispering Angel Rose, popped a Xanax and logged on to my Pin Boards. As the liquid and prescription tranquilizers infused my blood stream, I allowed myself the fantasy of step-by-step relocating into a luxurious, efficient, feng shui environment that spanned 300 square feet. Maybe I’d even go off the grid… take that all you code mongers and building inspectors.
My days would be simple and clutter free. I’d have exactly what I need and nothing more. My cleanup time would be minimal – I mean how long could it really take to tidy up 300 square feet? I’d grocery shop like a European, buying one or two apples and a litre of milk, not the 15 bag run I’m used to doing weekly. There simply wouldn’t be room to stash 6 varieties of cereal and 3 different types of non-dairy milk to humor a finicky palate.
A deeper dive down the Tiny House rabbit hole informed me that for roughly the same price as bringing my plumbing up to code, I could purchase a Tiny Alpha House, complete with a drop down deck AND wheels… Now we’re talking…
Then my son came home from sports camp with a knee injury, requiring sprawl space and LOTS of ice… my daughter returned from wherever she had been with a plethora of dirty laundry and plastic bins she needed for her dorm, deciding to use the living room as the mothership for her fall semester packing. Her sister texted me about two friends coming in for the weekend and needing a place to crash. The cat and the dog got into a squabble over a chew toy and began chasing each other down the hall, and my stepdaughter called and asked if she could leave her car in the driveway for the weekend so she didn’t have to park at the airport.
Suddenly my dreams of a tiny house seemed small and far away. Reluctantly I reached for my checkbook, and rather than making a check payable to the tiny house company, I made it payable to the plumber instead. But I did bookmark the website for the Alpha Tiny House… because you never know when there might be a zombie apocalypse.