The nice thing about grandchildren is that you can give them back. Play with them, enjoy them, and when they spit up, cry or turn into surly teenagers, hand them back to their parents and go hit the casino. This strategy has worked really well for me and my grandkids — until now. My grandson (my son’s oldest boy and the oldest of my grandkids) is moving in with his girlfriend and I’m having a hard time containing my disapproval.
Don’t get me wrong. The girl is sweet as blueberry pie and I’m no prude; by all means, get acquainted with his toenail clippings and weird collections of action figures before you tie the knot. But she is insisting on redecorating their apartment and has chosen to do it in 70s revival. Now, if you lived through the 70s like I did you will probably agree that 70s decorating schemes should be left in the past. Just like that fondue pot that’s tucked into the dark recesses of your closet, most of the decorating trends that came out of the 70s are best forgotten. I mean, let’s be honest: “avocado” green, harvest gold, brown — those colors all look like they came out of a diaper. That’s super gross, I know, but that’s the point. The 70s color palette was offensive in every possible way and was an example of what happens when people allow themselves to become enslaved to fashion.
And don’t forget what a pain in the a-s-s shag carpeting was. You couldn’t just vacuum it. You had to vacuum it and rake it so that it wouldn’t look flattened. And if your kid spilled Froot Loops on it, you could kiss your morning goodbye because you’d have to spend hours untangling that mess. Luckily, the grandson’s apartment has hardwood floors, so an area rug is as “shag-a-delic” as their place is going to get. They also have stainless steel appliances which will not be swapped out for avocado green ones any time soon. And the lease says absolutely no repainting.
All the girlfriend can really go is hang some curtains (she’s leaning towards something like this) and buy a boxy orange sofa. My dilemma — talk her out of it or bite my tongue — seems to have resolved itself.
In the spirit of promoting family harmony, I’ve decided to get them a lava lamp.