Not too long ago, my husband bought a pair of tennis shoes designed to pamper his size fourteen feet. These babies are so loaded with bells and whistles, they put every other shoe in the house to shame. I mean, how can a plain brown leather shoe, no matter how fine the leather or how comfy the arch support, compete with silver, white, yellow and blue aerodynamic shoes, complete with zig zag patterns, reflectors and two inches of tread?
Not too long ago, I went to the dentist and came home with a new toothbrush. The thing was a gargantuan, technological wonder – blue, yellow, and white with ergonomic curves, aerodynamic bristles attached to a base peppered with soft, mouth-friendly plastic doohickeys. It intimidated every other toothbrush in the bathroom and was so big it wouldn’t fit into the toothbrush holder.
At bedtime, I showed it to Hiram. “It kinda reminds me of your new tennis shoes.”
He nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Is it just me,” I wondered, “or has our bigger-is-better, complicated-is-better design mentality gotten out of hand?”
Over the next few days, several other examples of this mentality came to my attention. Two appliances, a big, new toaster and big, crock pot, barely fit into the appliance garage that, thirteen years ago, easily held my old toaster and crock pot, along with a knife holder.
When Mom gave up housekeeping, I brought a couple of her spatulas home. They quickly became my favorites, and Hiram’s, too. “They’re so much easier to handle,” he said. And he’s right. They’re smaller, much more convenient than the spatulas we’ve used for years, only because they were all that was available for purchase.
At this house, at least, we’d like to relinquish the bigger-is-better mantle. We’re ready for simpler, smaller, and fewer. But we have to figure out how to do it. Short of cutting off Hiram’s toes, I think the big tennis shoes are here to stay. But at my next dentist appointment I’ll ask for a smaller toothbrush. And next time the toaster or the TV or the washer or drier dies, I’ll try to downsize when we pick replacements.
Maybe, as a reminder, I should take along the monster toothbrush. But there’s a problem with that. It won’t fit in my purse.
