When The Furniture Met For The First Time

Getting married over age 40 poses some very interesting dilemmas. Some of them are comical, and some of them are just plain weird. For instance, a very interesting little thing happened when Husband and I moved in together. The day the movers came to get my stuff (out of my 2,500 square foot house in which I had been living by myself), I realized that Husband actually had stuff, too. And, my stuff would be touching his stuff. Until that day, I do believe it never dawned on me that any of his stuff would be coming with him. Weird, huh?

Anyway, the dilemma really resides with this little fact: being over 40 means ya know what you like. And, ya know what you don’t like. That goes especially for interior design. And, unfortunately, Husband and I are on opposites sides of the spectrum when it comes to decorating and architecture. (I, of course, knew this when I met him, but see stuff reference above.)

The first time our furniture met, it was not pretty. I mean not pretty as in the “before” pictures of a home make-over. Picture France/Italy (charming cottage, not Versailles) crossed with Jamestown (the starving, middle of winter Jamestown where they boiled their belts for food.)  Guess who was France/Italy?

I am sure Husband would move right into Monticello if I’d let him. (Given it’s 10 miles away this is actually a possibility. Until the police show up.) I, on the other hand, would probably never leave George Clooney’s Lake Como home if I was ever invited. He needn’t even be there. (No, really.) I’d just be there for the architecture.

Anyway, given my rich delusional fantasy life, I have gone ahead and pretended I’m in Italy by collecting little paintings and furniture that would fit in nicely with George’s life. (A grown woman is always prepared for the unexpected invitation.) Husband, in the meantime, went ahead and did his own throw it together interior decorating thing.

But, being the more mature bride, I have come up with a solution. We’re starting over. Which means I get to go s-h-o-p-p-i-n-g. (You can see my smiling, can’t you?) Husband has been alerted, though not necessarily invited.  I promised not to bring home George Clooney anything modern or too Louis the XIV. He has promised not to hate everything. See? Compromise!

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