bloomsday

Hello My Dear:

We're building a home. True, we're moving into an old house, but we're building a home. Strange that you saw it so, on your first observation. I hereby give you all credit for seeing the potential of our home. We didn't want their crummy hottub anyway. We may not be aristocracy, but we're decent liberal lawyers who don't want to raise our children in a demented slaughterhouse of a world. We want a nice home with green, but we cannot sever our roots from the city. We're respectable in this way. We will have a good home.

A word about decorating. I am perfectly amenable to any of your style choices. Truth be told, in most instances, I don't care. Sure, I could muster an opinion if I had to, but it would probably be overwrought and selfconscious, and therefore, you should promptly reject it. Here are my general priorities:

Comfort. Lighting. Music. Good food. Christian Sex in every room. And I Do Mean Every.

I don't actually need a dog any time soon. I'd like to get this house in order: floors and paint, at least.

We will need additional charcoal, and adequate work clothes.

I have a million fleeting images of our future, and I know it will be grand.