With the 50s Kitchen

Houses that are more like cottages are always the kind that are right up my alley. Especially when within they have the art loving eclectics living inside. I figure I like them so much because it is nearly certain that I will be the same in the small apartments and living arrangements I will make up for myself as I go. 

I am a Gaiman like Lucy from the Hating Game. Sorry, still obsessing over that latest read.

Before leaving campus, my roommate's friend took us to her sisters, a house that immediately proved to be a little more than the average as seen by the huge paper bells just high enough that my head didn't bump in the entry and the adopted cat that happily meowed at me from the steps that curved all the way upstairs past the tiny stained glass window.

Smiling at her, I petted her head, "Hi, Chica," I said warned of her name in advance. 

She meowed back and continued to follow me around the place as if I was her own. One of the first places I was lead was through the kitchen, bright yellow with fifties appliances that made me want to change into a tulle skirt to twirl around in. My eyes began to widen in the wonder of it all. The checkered boarding. The old wooden mail filing cabinet now being used as a spice holder.

"I always like to see how people react to the house when they first come in," sister Les commented.

I wasn't paying attention while everyone walked further through the house causally, I was a pleased sort of awe that continued through the dining room of mismatched thrifted chairs and the living room of book shelves filled with thousands of books Les has been left in a friend's will along with most of the walls covered with art from the children and random "children" of hers she lets live in the upstairs room while they create.

I was also offered said room when I mentioned that I was a English major and a writer. Yet I could not come up with my elevator pitch at a drop of a hat quite sadly.

Will definitely need to work on that. It is just a little difficult when romance, burlesque dancer, and tragic past, and a lot of other messy plot points come into play that all make sense...when they are all together of course.

It is the little things I notice and this cozy night in was a great moment of the past month with Allison near by and a new person that showed me her vintage pin collection during dinner. The cat yes, was still sitting next to me contently at this point. A few of the most lovely pins which Allison I have now found out snuck out (with permission of course) to give to me for an early birthday present a few days ago. When I opened the gift of slightly rusted broaches, I stared at them in awe and confusion of the little sneak.

She was very pleased with herself.

For the quirky things get me, and I sure hope that I will come across many more things that can only be described as quaint in the best ways...and filled with books.


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