This photo has been on my fridge for six months. My dream kitchen. See, I even wrote that on there in case somebody needed an idea for a birthday present. Oh Lordy, how I love looking at this picture. I imagine myself in there getting ready for a dinner party. I look pretty. I'm standing under the chandelier and the soft light is making me glow. Good working dimmers. I've washed my hair. For once. I have makeup on and took time putting on concealer so my undereye circles look sufficiently concealed. I'm wearing wedges and a cute, ruffled apron over my little black dress. Big Daddy comes down and he looks handsome and smells good. He puts his arm around me and says, "Would my lovely wife like a glass of wine?" I smile, he whispers in my ear and I throw my head back and laugh. Oh, it's the dream life I have in that kitchen.
Do you see how the whole corner was ripped off? The Big Daddy needed some scratch paper and used this piece of paper. My dream kitchen picture. I can't even have a copy of something nice. How am I supposed to daydream about my dream life in my dream kitchen when the photo looks like the dog chewed on it? My dream kitchen photo has become a snapshot of my real life, as if I needed a reminder of something that started out nice until it got into this house.