I considered getting the room squeeky-clean and looking like I don't use it, but then there would never be pictures of the minily-remodeled utility room.
You know, like I haven't taken any pictures of The Big Room. I'm waiting in vain for that room to be cleansy. Apparently that room is not only never clean, but I'm not on the ball.
Well, I'm on the ball, but not that ball. Some other ball. Some ball that flew in my yard uninvited. See how it works? I talk in circles and eventually forget what I'm trying to do. That's how nothing ever gets done.
Except for the other day. Am I right? Can I see a show of hands? Just sayin' and all that shite?
Notice how Calvin has to be everywhere I am? It was damned annoying trying to get anything put away in this new space. Every time I brought in a basket to fill it got filled with some cat-ass. He's like that. I have no idea where he learned such behavior.
Check out my new-to-me 1960s Plycraft recliner. I had to beg on my hands and knees to get this chair. Pup was not lovin' on it. I pouted. He acquiesced. I own a chair! I don't pout often. Only when I want an Eames knock-off produced in the 60s.
It needs some love and leather butter, but I smile every time I walk into the house. It's nummy as a Martini. As nummy as an Old Fashioned.
Hmm . . . for some reason I need a cocktail.
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