Our new faucet is sleek, stylish, and imposing. Since it has been put into its place, I suspect it has also acquired an attitude that is far from sleek or stylish, but still definitely imposing. Not that I can blame it. After all, it was doomed for the flow of high aspirations from the moment of it was cast in its mold in a European country all the way of its arrival to our house in a package worthy of housing gourmet European chocolates.
Instead it found itself a faux swan among true ducklings, the ragtag assembly of “home improvements” at the hands of people like us, who are inept at the art of gliding, gracefully or otherwise, on the glassy surfaces of interior decorating. And so our long-necked diva has had to steel itself a little harder to staring into the abyss of a small black sink -- unless it can charm us eventually, into upgrading, for its sake, to a sink worthy of Narcissus himself:
Still, a benefit of this mismatch of faucet and sink is that we get free showers (partial though they may be) every time we turn on the faucet, which thinks the sink is just way too beneath it to bother going with the flow.
