A Decorating Maniac Am I
I want to attach stuff to the ceiling of my house.
The house is full, the walls are saturated. The ceiling is blah.
All white, boring, basic, not quite clean, but bland.
The tables are cluttered, no one has decorated their house more.
Any thing I ever truly liked is on a wall somewhere.
If you gave me something and it is not on a wall, I did not like it.
At all. Even a bit.
The only room in my house I have not touched is my husband’s bathroom.
I have not really touched his office either, but he has confiscated all of other
People’s paintings because we paid for them and only liked them for thirty
Years and put them up there himself, nose to nose, butt to butt.
There is one measly solitary picture in his bathroom, plain, a bit of green.
Wordless.
Plain black frame.
Not my style.
I cannot even go in there.
I am looking at the ceiling fans in the livingroom right now.
If I puncture little holes in the ends of the ceiling fans, I might be able to hang something.
Water guns or match books or barrettes or salt and pepper shakers or something.
I know better than to try to attach stuff to the ceiling
Made of flimsy ceiling tile.
We barely escaped a lawsuit once
When 42 of them fell down, missing an
Insurance man by a couple of inches.
Wasn’t that awkward too, as he had just insured this little beauty.
They are supposedly up better now with better wires.
But with craftsmen being sneaky these days,
Do you really trust that?
Moving along. The cupboard knobs in the kitchen look insanely blah.
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