I get the attraction of the tiny house. It’s cute. It’s compact. It’s cozy.
If a home can be called adorable, the tiny house surely can.
It’s this — the itty-bitty homestead — that’s become my evening companion of late during the chilly days of winter. I found a television station that invited me to watch programming on tiny houses — pretty much non-stop — and I more than happily accepted.
“Think I’ll read for a bit,” the husband will say after dinner.
“Think I’ll watch some TV,” I will say.
“Tiny houses?” the husband will inquire.
“You got it,” I’ll say.
Tiny houses, in case you haven’t heard, have become all the rage. You can’t have a dinner party for a dozen guests when you live in a tiny house. But you’ll probably have a flip-down kitchen table where you and your sweetie can sit down to eat.
You can’t have a soaker tub when you live in a tiny house. You can’t have a grand staircase that leads to the four-bedroom sleeping quarters.
But you’ll probably have a shower stall that can accommodate most, if not all, of your body. And you’ll probably have a retractable ladder than leads up to the single bedroom, which will allow you to stretch out, but not to stand up.
What’s not to love?
“I could really go for a tiny house,” I informed the husband. This, while we were eating spaghetti in front of the fire.
“Could both of us be in the kitchen at the same time?” asked the husband. “You know, to whip up the pasta?”
“Of course not,” I said. “A tiny house is tiny.”
“What if I wanted to read and you wanted to watch TV?” he continued.
I considered my response.
“Well,” I said. “If we lived in a tiny house, I probably wouldn’t feel the need to watch TV shows on tiny houses. But if I did, I’d probably use headphones.”
Granted, while the allure of the tiny house would be significant — for one thing, I’d be forced to edit back my collection of 22 casserole dishes, 35 photo albums and 48 bath towels — there would be challenges. We’d only be able to have a six-inch-high Christmas tree, for instance, and we’d have to keep it on a windowsill. And if we had out-of-town visitors, we’d likely be able to feed them, but they’d be eating standing up.
“So how tiny are tiny houses anyway?” asked the husband.
“They can be really tiny,” I said. “Like even 100 square feet.”
“That’s pretty tiny,” he observed.
Point taken, I guess. Perhaps we’ll steer clear of tiny for now. I’ll get my fix on evening TV.
