Design Center Drama

Shortly after Mike and I got married, we started hunting for a house.  The plan was simple...  find "the perfect" home in our price range, close to work, modest, spacious enough for possible kids, big enough to not outgrow anytime soon, small enough to be manageable, and preferably new.  The hunt was hard.  Every weekend, week after week was spent searching, searching, searching for the perfect location, builder, and home.  Finally, the stars and planets aligned, and we put a deposit down on a new build in McKinney.  It had all that we had hoped for and more.

I once said that the true test of a marriage was putting together something - like a grill (which we tackled the week after we got married) - without ripping each other's hair out.  Boy was I wrong.  That was small beans.  But to a newlywed, it was the first time that Mike and I had ever really "gotten cross" with each other, so I thought it was a test.  At that point, though, we hadn't been through purchasing a home and visiting the design center.  If you've ever built a home, you know what I mean here.  Soooo many choices!  It seems simple enough.  After all, how many shades of off-white paint colors could there be?  Thousands, apparently.  Thankfully, we only had to pick between the 8 offerings.  As we moved from item to item, it quickly became overwhelming.  Mike and I are extensive researchers by nature.  We want to get the best deal possible for every dollar.  The best product for our money, and the best colors/styles/choices that will stand the test of time.  I'm not an overly creative decorator, so I wanted something that would work for years.  Tile, cabinets, carpet, grout, electrical outlets, gas lines, gas fireplace, hose bibs; the list went on and on.  So many decisions!  Should we get the elongated toilet?  What was the benefit of a longer seat?  Things I had never given any thought to now seemed like major decisions.  After all, what if I made a mistake and regretted it for the next 30+ years!

Finally, we were in the home stretch.  All we had to do was to walk across the street to the technology center.  Ahh... the tech center.  Everything was arranged in pre-planned packages, so I got out my calculator, color-coded binder (of course!), and my laptop with the Excel spreadsheet filled with formulas to determine the home's total cost.  By this point in the day, we were pretty tense. At least I was.  I kept hearing the cha-ching of money leaving our bank account while seeing the price of our home rise.  I figured this would be easy-peasy.  After all, Mike and I had discussed it the night before and were in agreement with what we wanted.

Enter the sales guy.  As he went over the packages, he started introducing things we hadn't ever considered. What if we might want music out on the patio some day?  Surely we'd need pre-wiring and a volume control knob!  Sometime in the next 30 years, would we want a TV in our bedroom?  If so, what wall do we want it on?  I felt like I would crumble under the pressure.

"We can get the basic package with two home theater plates," I said.

"But I want surround sound and the central command," Mike replied quietly.

"Ok, well, then we can get the deluxe package.  It has central command."

"But it doesn't label the wires.  We need labeled wires."

Memories of summer afternoons at my parents' house flooded my mind, my dad in the attic, my brother and I taking turns sticking our hands through the little socket hole that my dad had cut in the wall, feeling for the wire my dad was feeding down from the attic.  LEFT, no RIGHT!  A little further right!  I wasn't going to do that again.

"Um... ok.  Sir, how much extra for labeling the wires?" I asked Sales Guy.

"It'll be an extra $300," he replied plain-faced.

Deep breath.

"Ok, let's add that on," I finally say a bit too tightly.

"Well, then I'd recommend the premier package.  It has numerous home theater/office panels, plus central command with labels, plus surround and outdoor speakers, a receiver..." Sales Guy kept rattling off the features we would get in the "best of the best" package.

I couldn't take it.

"We're already $2500 over-budget!  May we have a minute, please?" I asked the salesman.  

As he left the room, I looked at Mike with fire in my eyes.  

I don't remember much else about that conversation.  All I remember is that it finally ended in a, "Fine. Whatever," from both of  us.  

We agreed on the middle package with the added on labeling.  It would give us everything we both felt was very important, and we promised that we would take care of the missing elements (speakers and a receiver) within the next year.  Seven years later, we finally got those speakers.  

I often remember that day because it was the first real argument Mike and I had.  We rode home in silence, and as the evening wore on, the ice in our veins melted.  I look back now and shake my head at the silliness of that argument.  But a little part of me can't help but cringe every time I hear Mike say, "Man, I wish our house had a true media room."