It was put in writing by one of us – unprompted – in the WhatsApp at half ten on a Tuesday morning: “bought the wrong one first…mirrored front, no shelf on the inside….basically a glorified but very expensive airing cupboard for your face.” Nobody asked her to type it out. She just did. Words. From Daisy. Rare enough around these parts to be noteworthy in itself.
The thing about bathroom cabinets, it turns out, is that they look like the dull end of the purchase spectrum when you’re a functioning adult capable of making decisions. And then they become the single most debated item in any given household.
And we’re talking minor existential crises over here, not because anyone has strong feelings about white.
White is the one cohesive in our disagreements.
It’s what you hide from it that matters.
One faction of our team believes adjustable shelves are the only way to cater for life’s plethora of differently sized bottles. The others are too relaxed about alignment to adjust the shelves at all, and just shove toothpaste tubes in sideways. Like…that’s a system too, we’re told.
Beyond the fact that someone will yell about shelves at some point, we do all agree that a cabinet is the only item of furniture that does two jobs and bloody well doesn’t complain about it. It stores the chaos you don’t want applauded by visitors and spits you out with a mirror when you need it most. The precise moment when you’re holding a toothbrush, filling your mouth with toothpaste and extracting a pair of socks from someone’s legs who firmly believes skins are pants. It doesn’t complain. It just does both. And if that’s not something, half of Tuesday mornings sorted by a single item isn’t.
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What we cannot agree on – someone will always bring this up like it’s the holy grail of cabinet problems – is the door swing. Does anyone measure said swing against the actual bathroom door before purchasing? No. Nobody. It now clips the towel rail every time you open it, for eternity.
Personal insults by the third week.
The cabinet Daisy bought first currently resides in household numero four.
It also survived a bracket that died on life sometime between house two and three, and a superglue refit that nobody will own up to but will raise a silent glass to when it’s mentioned.
Sam’s lasted eleven months before its hinge snapped. Half of us saw that as job security for cheap shelves in-store; half of us think you shouldn’t trust anything that comes with a mirror on the front. Hinge-related debates around here are longstanding and bitter.
We don’t all believe in shelving adjustable anymore. We don’t agree on whether the cabinet should be a basic mirror or the kind with the barely-there bevel that makes everyone look like death. We don’t even try to discuss where, precisely, it should sit opposite the light switch. We’ve found that wall filler on more than one occasion.
Where we finally find alignment is in the fact that it has to pull its weight every day before coffee is consumed by all. It doesn’t have to be Pinterest perfect for a photoshoot we’ll never recreate. If it can do that, if it can contain the toothpaste disaster and hangdog doors without killing the ambiance, it’s earning its keep and we can all get on with the business of adulting.
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