My parents live in an apartment that is actually ours and they have bought new flooring. It’s something that looks like wood, but isn’t. And it’s not laminate flooring either. Nor is it vinyl. Oh no! Dare not say that it’s nice vinyl flooring, because my mother will kill you with her eyes! It’s PVC (I think). And it was very expensive. So there!
My mother turned 80 last month, my father is 87, or 88, I’m not quite sure. Anyway, they are at the age that their friends tend to exchange earth for eternity. With that thought in mind, my mother said: “When we die, and you’re going to sell the apartment, you’ll have to remove the flooring and lay it in your house. You can easily remove it and it wasn’t a cheap floor (we know mom, we know), and other people will perhaps not appreciate it and throw it in a skip. That will be such a shame!”
“We have to lay it in our house?”, I said.
“Or don’t you like it!”, she snapped.
“Yeah. I like it here. But not in my house”, I carefully tried to soften the blow. “Besides, you’ll be dead. I don’t think you’ll be that interested in what happens to your floor when you're dead. You’ll have other things on your mind.”
And then she gave me that look that I always get. The one in which she suggests I’m not all there upstairs. If you know what I mean.
I just think I’m funny. In the ‘haha’ way.
She’ll probably try to convince my sister next that she needs a new floor in her house somewhere, when they can’t enjoy their NOT vinyl floor themselves anymore.