I hate camping. For me staying in a motel is roughing it. Yet as a writer (The Travelers, Saguaro Books) I do have that itch to jump in a convertible with the top down and set off across the country Thelma and Louise style (without the cliff).
But, soon after I start thinking this way, the reality sets in and the idea becomes less romantic and more a conversation in impracticality.
Enter the tiny house.
It’s become an obsession of mine. I used to watch HGTV for the decorating. Now, it’s only for the tiny house shows. I devour them like I can suddenly eat gluten again and it’s as if they are one giant chocolate cake.
I even know my preferences for how I would design it. There would be a loft for my daughter and hidden beds in the floor for extra sleeping, high ceilings. It would have an innovative kitchen with a smart use of space and at least a 3/4 fridge so my husband can still cook.
If I wasn’t married my tiny house would be pink with white trim and flower boxes on the windows. Since I have to take the tastes of my family into consideration, the exterior would have a combination of rustic wood and metal.
All of this has just been an obsession. I never actually thought I could have a tiny house. I haven’t even seen one in person. Like my cross country machinations it’s just been an idea.
Until now. As we drove to Jersey City to visit a friend, we passed something that made me squeal “I want to go see that!”
My husband and daughter spun their heads and looked at the direction of two tiny houses in a parking lot of a hotel with people standing in front of them. My hubby, being the great guy he is (he doesn’t share my tiny house love) whipped the car into the hotel parking lot so I could get a closer look.
The kind people of Petite Retreats, who were headed to the New York auto show, kindly showed me the house and even let me inside. (After I did a super embarrassing jumping/dancing/spaz-tastic move that if anyone had videotaped me would be future blackmail material.) It kind of looked like this.
I think my husband secretly hoped seeing the inside would cure me of my tiny house obsession. It. Did. Not.
I want one even more now! I mean really? Look how cute this is!
And then, just look at this…
We look like we belong in one of these right? We should be on a tiny house poster.
I want to jump in one right now and take off! I can picture myself now, sitting in the cute little desk/kitchen table that folds out from wall, writing another sequel to the Travelers or working on my children’s/middle grade fiction book called “The Black Unicorn and Other Stories for Believers.”
Impractical? Maybe? A place to make memories of a lifetime and find endless inspiration for current and future books. Absolutely.
So, how do I talk my family into this? (Including my dog that vomits in the car.) How do I get them to take my hand and jump off the tiny house cliff? (It’s a lot safer than a real one.)