I feel like I should have a sign on my door that says "We are not really this classy." While I'm loving my tastefully appointed home (thanks to items borrowed from very generous friends), I must admit it's like living in a hotel (except for that whole doing the dishes and laundry and cleaning part).
I mean, really. I have art in my guest bathroom.
My girls have cute (and matching) stuff in theirs.And even my laundry room has a dreamy picture of a faraway place.
(I can brag on all this stuff because it's not mine...)
Anyway, maybe I don't have to hang the sign.
All people have to do is open my garage door.
The mountain on the right is what started out as my garage sale pile, but now it's the Goodwill pile. I'm too tired to spend a Saturday haggling over whether that ten-year-old shirt is worth 10 cents or twenty. I will bequeath it to whomever will haul it off.
The mountain on the left is a mixture of laundry, wall frames and items that didn't make the "class" cut to go back on the wall, and moving boxes. And about four boxes are full of pantry items I need to put away now that my countertops are in. Just hasn't been a priority. We'd rather just trip over them trying to get out the door.
The biggest mountain was in the POD, but it got picked up Monday.
Just for today, I'm glad I can leave the door closed and enjoy the beauty on this side of the garage door.
I'll have to deal with the other side eventually, anyway.