Hot tubs, along with those wonderful washlet toilets which we’ve previously discussed here, are consequential, indeed indispensable, products for the Alpha Japanese Female and me. No house can be our home without these indulgent accessories.
When we moved from Hawaii to California in 2015 it was simply a given that we would buy washlets for each bathroom and a backyard “spa” which is the frou-frou name for an expensive hot tub. One of the criteria we set for selecting a house was that its garden area be private and without direct lines of sight from neighboring properties, which is no easy trick for Southern California houses on ridiculously tiny lots.
Then, mirabile dictu, we discovered that the house we wanted to buy already had a hot tub. The problem was that said hot tub was a disreputable unit of uncertain provenance.
The Seller allowed as how he didn’t know the tub’s exact age because it was willed to him along with the house by his now deceased parents but he promised and pinky swore that the tub was in tip top condition, ran perfectly and didn’t leak. Would a house seller ever lie?
The AJF stamped her tiny Ferragamo-clad feet and insisted that the Seller simply remove the old tub before we closed on the house, secure that I would purchase for her a brand-new “spa” when we took occupancy. “Just throw that junk out,” were her exact words.
However, since I am supremely
thrifty cheap, I countered that we should keep the legacy hot tub and “use it until it dies” at which point we would significantly upgrade our outdoor bathing accoutrements. As my blog friend Julia says, “It just needs a little percussive maintenance.”
“Think of all the money we’ll save,” I hooted, “We’ll be able to afford an even posher one in a little while.” A lot of name calling ensued and threats of physical harm were made towards me, but ultimately she acquiesced.
Fast forward five years and the Franken-tub is still running strong. Based on a Goog of its serial number, the ancient brute turned 20 years old in January which makes it the Methuselah of hot tubs. Oh sure, I had to replace a pump and motor a couple of years ago but that only cost about $300 since I did the work myself and I’m almost certain I got all the right wires in the right places. Other than that, the hot tub hasn’t needed any parts or services. Such a deal!
The AJF hates that this tub shows no sign of dying. Yup, Old Faithful is all that stands between her, a brand new Hotspring Triumph™ and the thundering, wifey-back thumping power of the Moto-Massage® DX jet that she’s thirsting for. You can practically feel the loathing she holds for the Venerable One. I can hear her chanting ominous Japanese imprecations every time she sits in The Beast, which is almost every night.
I, of course, simply love that ‘ole tub to bits. In response to her attempts at sabotaging it, I occasionally rick-roll the AJF by singing, “Never gonna give you up.”
Finally, she presented an ultimatum: either I do something to at least improve the appearance of the Monster or she was calling (“Right now and I mean right this very minute!”) 1-800-GOTJUNK to turn my old buddy over to the (cough) waste management people.
So, for the past few days I have been re-siding and tarting-up my economical cauldron of joy. I wasn’t given much budget so I opted to use as siding, waterproof laminate floor tiles that resemble real wood. Well, they resemble real wood if you are out at sunset and squint really hard from a distance and did I mention they were inexpensive?
I’m not sure how long this palliation will placate the AJF. I was hoping she’d at least appreciate my efforts but even that is not certain. On the first day I asked if she’d make me something to eat for lunch so I could power on with the remodeling work.
She said, “I was just at Tokyo Central Market and I have just the thing for you. I found these delicacies on sale. We’ll just use these for awhile and then I’ll get some of the good ones. Think of all the money we’ll save.”
I think that’s called sarcasm.
Categories: The Dog From Rancho Cucaracha