House-humbled

I used to be a straight-ahead, confront-the-issue kind of person, but nowadays I sometimes prefer denial. Take my countertop—please. About two years ago, we pulled out the stained kitchen-floor tiles and the rotting butcher-block countertop and replaced them with beautiful, all-natural limestone and granite, respectively. Maintaining them is a little fussy, but Other seems to have taken ownership (he cooks, he cleans, he's Otherman!).

Then about a year ago I began reading reports that granite can be quite radioactive. As one expert said, "I've seen a few that might heat up your Cheerios a little." I took that one head on, and managed through many phone calls to reach the New York state scientist who tests granite for radioactivity. (Sometimes it helps to have a reporting background. I know that if I devote enough time to it, I can find the best expert for anything.) I told him the variety and origin of our granite—and he said it was totally safe. So I've been humming along cheerfully, enjoying our pretty kitchen, enjoying Other's good cooking.

Then yesterday I read a report on a breast-cancer discussion board that granite is dense with toxic heavy metals ...

I used to be house-proud, but I'm paying for it. Now I'm house-humbled.