Private parts

My colleagues and I were talking about something today that I thought was worth blogging about, and that is home tours. Not the organised ones where you hop on a bus with the Red Hat Society and walk through strangers’ mansions. The everyday kind, where you have someone over for the first time, and feel compelled to show him or her around.

As a first-time guest in other people’s homes, I’ll admit I like the tour. I don’t even know why. The only other room that I really need to be aware of is the washroom, for which I am happy to take verbal directions. I don’t need to see it in advance, so long as I know it exists and it’s fully functioning.

Maybe home tours break the ice. Maybe they make new comers feel more at home. Maybe visitors want to assess the space-owner’s personality via home decor. Or maybe humans are just curious. Either way, “having a look around” seems to come up — whether offered by the host or requested by the guest.

I see nothing wrong with the concept itself, but today’s conversation led to the part of the tour when you have to show the guest your bedroom, and how it is often awkward. Unless it’s a close friend, the unavailing of the boudoir is a tad uncomfortable. There is a pause afterward, a noticeable silence. I find most people promptly direct the attention to the wall art or the window treatment. Some are more forward about the awkwardness and crack sly jokes.

I don’t remember this awkwardness before I started living with my husband, but now it’s evident. Even though the majority of time spent in one’s bedroom is sleeping, the bedroom is just a weird room to showcase. It’s private. Everything could be in order. The bed made. Clothes away. But it doesn’t matter, you know everyone is thinking about the naked mambo.

Me? I always open the door and sheepishly say “And this is where the magic happens,” hoping the person is familiar with MTV Cribs. And since everyone says it on that show, it leads me to believe that my colleagues and I aren’t the only ones who feel this way about the master bedroom (either that, or the celebs featured on MTV Cribs are just unoriginal).

You would think the bathroom — the room where the majority of time is spent with no pants on —  would be more private and most embarrassing, but it’s not. Which brings me to other questions about why the thought of sex is more mortifying than the thought of pooping, and what makes guests think the only place to do… oh never mind.


4 thoughts on “Private parts

  1. “And this is where the magic happens,”

    I laughed out loud. Literally. I’m not just ‘lol’-ing irresponsibly.

    Did you ever see the ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’ episode where Larry’s friends get annoyed when he declares he’s not interested in a home tour of their newly-purchased house? “I get the drill: bathroom, laundry, living room. I’m good.” Your blog reminded me of that.

    Our current apartment is situated so that you have to go into the bedroom in order to get to the bathroom, so we can never avoid that part. I think I’ve gotten over the awkwardness by necessity.

  2. I have to agree…
    “the unavailing of the boudoir is a tad uncomfortable”

    Anytime anyone makes their boudoir unavailable to me is darn uncomfortable! Just thought I’d unveil that! :-p

  3. Thank you for this blog, I will be sure to reference it when needed throughout our website once we add our resources section. Keep up the great blogging and thanks again.

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