One weekend some time ago I had the pleasure of celebrating an acquaintance's birthday poolside at a jaw-dropping gorgeous classic-contemporary seven year old 10,000 square foot Rosedale ravine residence. Well-designed, well-proportioned and beautifully furnished, it was one of those dwellings that oozed understated luxury without being the least bit gaudy or pretentious. As a self-proclaimed House Nut I was impressed by the space plan flow, the exacting attention to detail, and the clever marriage of traditional architectural elements with their contemporary execution - like the barrel-vaulted coffered ceilings in the family room with just the right amount of recessed lighting, the abundant intricately-patterned stonework reminiscent of luxury 1930's vintage bathrooms, and the octagonal hall with balcony under a soaring clear crystal glass oculus. Even though this mansion was 10,000 square feet over four levels, it felt intimate, comfortable and perfect for entertaining. It was dreamy.
Throughout the house tour I was all ooooo's and ahhhhh's, until we came to the main floor powder room. There, on the vanity, was a glass-bowl sink....the kind that look a bit like the glass mixing bowls Mom used when making chocolate chip cookies. Plain and simple, I hate these kinds of sinks to the point of blind fury. They show soap scum, water marks, and heaven forbid you use one of these to brush your teeth. I see these sinks every so often in Flipper Houses, where the renovators think they're showing a great sense of style when all I see is the need to keep Windex and a cleaning rag under the counter at all times.
Here's a pic:
In past debates, the only time I have been reluctantly agreeable to the idea of having one of these sinks would be if it's located in a guest powder room. It's not a place that is frequently used so I wouldn't be scrubbing it daily (heck, truth be told, I wipe my sink after every use - that's how meticulous I am!) though it could, well, present an opportunity to show a little Bling! Sure enough, just as the scowl was crossing my face, the host hit the light switch and, lo and behold, the sink vanity - an exceptional piece of Onyx - came aglow from soft undermount lighting. All of a sudden, this jewel of a powder room became a piece of art, and the glass vessel had every reason to be demurely there, looking oh-so-understated and perfect. I couldn't resist my surprise and slipped in to take photos, giggling the entire time. And then, just to see, I lathered up my hands with the host's french millinery soap and rinsed them off while watching water droplets splash and soap scum trail. Sure, it would be a bitch to clean but I didn't have to care.
But it took every ounce of restraint not to look for the Windex.