Today the sweet girl and I visited one of the places that's become a favorite destination for her: a lovely expansive furniture and housewares store on the northwest corner of Houston and Broadway. She loves to inspect all the cooking gadgets — the cherry pitters, the garlic presses, and the vast array of pepper and salt mills.
After we've looked at all the kitchen gadgets, we work our way through the small appliances — the espresso makers, rice cookers, slow cookers, blenders, mixers, and summer cooking specials like Weber grills and ice cream makers.
When we're done in the kitchen section, we head upstairs to the furniture displays in a vast space where one can walk from area to area where sample sectional sofas and coffee tables are setup in mock living rooms, bedroom sets are displayed with lovely linens, and patio furniture waits for a lazy summer afternoon under canvas umbrellas.
Usually we'll settle into one of the living room floor sample set-ups and have a rest and a chat. The space is peaceful because it's large and open and airy, and, of course because there is none of the detritus of daily life that accumulates in an actual home of any kind, and that overflows our city apartment.
Today she told me, when I'm grown up I'm going to marry a rich guy so that I can have nice furniture like this.
I told her that marrying someone rich is certainly one option, but that she might also be an important artist and sell her artwork for a great deal of money. Or that she might want to do something else.
No, she said, I think I'll just marry a rich guy. He can work.
So asked what she would do all day while her husband went to work. Wouldn't she be bored?
No, she said, I'll go to science museums.
I think we may have the makings of a science museum docent here. But in the meantime I think I may need to consider doing some redecorating so she won't come to the conclusion that women who work for a living are condemned to bad furniture.