All night, this nail was staring at me -- my poor, lovely old mantle, whimpering at me like Aesop's lion with a thorn in his paw. So, in my first act of this-is-my-home-now-bitches heroics, I plucked out the nail...leaving, of course, a neat little hole in my 151 year-old wood.
I then noticed the 27 other nail holes pockmarking the face of my mantle.
Why?? Why, why why???
Why - when there are billions of non-invasive stocking holders out there looking for a home - would you do this? Did you feel a little pang of guilt as you swung the hammer? How many people were in the room, consenting to this ghastly wood-disrespecting event?
Is it awful to hope Santa filled those Christmas stockings with nothing but photos of dead bunnies?
This one simple question led to so many more (and this is when the reality of signing and initialing all those papers at closing starts to sink in). Why would you paint my guest room bright pink and install Cookie Monster Blue carpet?
Why is there more paint on my window panes than on the wood?
Why is my bathroom (10 foot walls and ceiling) encrusted with this wall paper?
Just....why?
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