I sighed. “It’s still purple, isn’t it?” He just stared at me in disbelief. “Are you colorblind?” Yep, it was still purple. And not a faint purple. Or a purple that isn’t really purple, but only looks purple when the … Continue reading
I’ve blogged off and on for the past few years. Never consistently, although I wish I had. But looking back, nothing in my life then was very consistent – living in London, living in Columbia, living in Kansas City, full-time student and part-time intern, then full-time employee. Not an excuse, more of an insight for understanding.
But that’s all changed. Three months ago I got something very consistent. A husband. And in the past three months, Patrick and I have started adjusting to life together in our two bedroom, 775-square-foot house a few blocks west of the Plaza. Complete with some pretty interesting neighbors, a tiny one-sink bathroom, and a double oven. Our 60-pound English bulldog, Quinton, has made himself quite at home, too. For the sake of glass half-full, I’ll call it cozy.
It’s very much a time of learning. He’s learning about sorting laundry and my horrible allergy to all things yard work-related. I’m learning about how many Clint Eastwood Western movies exist and how many hair products and brushes are really necessary.
However, we’ve found one thing we can agree on:
He cooks. I clean.
This is the story our adventures. Our meals. Our life. Bon appetit!