Lord. Whatever did I do without a friendly blog partner-in-crime? Did I actually make decisions on my own? Or was I just relegated to shaking in the corner like a cold chihuahua?
Cones, both your post and this enormous glass of pinot noir someone (pretty sure it was my lovely Moved-To-Chicago-Stay-With-Me! Hostess, bless her heart) just pressed into my cold, emotionally dead hand, are helping me greatly. Of course, you know me too well. Except for that shot of that dame with a bird on her arm which I’m sure you slid in there, tongue in cheek, just to watch me shudder from 9,000 miles away. (For those of you unawares, I have a deathly fear of birds. No joke).
So now I sit here. Breathing deeply with my nose in a glass of California red. One look at that mirrored chest was enough for me. There was a spark, right there in my chest. One I hadn’t expected to have toward a piece of furniture in my lifetime. I think you guys call it pure lust. Could it be that this adventure might not be that bad? That I might actually stumble upon an apartment decor that doesn’t make my mother swallow with pain and offer to buy me a new couch? Immediately?
We’ll see. For now, I’m taking your advice to heart. I’m currently scouring the Interweb and when I felt a certain pang, right there in the stomach, aka “the midsection decorous” I dragged its silken, glossy photo to my desktop.
But for right now, just so you know, all I see is this…