A big kitchen with a gorilla-size oven, I can understand. It’s basically a chemistry lab for semi-serious food scientists who often require a careful titer of heat and ingredients.
But big bathrooms? What does a castle of marble and porcelain produce? Perfect lashes, brows and a popped pimple? I just want to get in and get out.
If I’m going to dawdle, it’s at my desk in front of my window where the elm’s fringed leaves broil with wind. And a sparrow dips its beak into a robin’s nest, upending egg after blue egg onto the pavement below. And two robins pace the sidewalk, the mosaic of shattered shells like bits of broken of sky.