I think I may have caught through the keyboard what Meg and Maxminimus had. Some kind of creepy bug that I'd thought I'd weathered the worst of when, yesterday, I found myself forgetting to offer a visiting friend food or drink. An additional warning sign should have been my willingness (enthusiasm, really) to wear my slippers to afternoon carpool. A regretful decision when I realized I needed to go to Office Max for the long-and-oft-promised replacement lunch box. Still, in that neighborhood, I don't think anyone noticed.
An exchange that I had had with Courtney Barnes at Style Court
about white walls sort of bounced around in my foggy head all day.
She mentioned Michael Bastian's apartment which, she noted, has "flair to spare," and I had to agree with its unpedigreed chic.
So as I guzzled the cough medicine that Mr. Blandings picked up "for me" (after mentioning the productivity of my cough while he knows
that I hate any conversation concerning bodily function of any kind) I tucked myself in knowing that White Walls and I can make a go of it. "There is a place for us!" I declared as the waves crashed against the rocks. Or maybe that was just the ringing in my ears.
All images Domino, September, 2008; photography Melanie Acevedo.
Labels: Mrs. B at Home