Now I don’t know what “theme” you would have to have in your bathroom in order to make a denim tushie toilet seat go, but I am pitching an Iron-Chef-style show to HGTV based around it.
“Your secret ingredient is CONFUSING TOILET SEAT. Make it work.” Would watch.
The idea is this: If a stranger (or Columbo) were to walk into your house, what would they be able to tell about you by just looking around?
One of us is vegan, one of us eats all of the things. Our cookbooks don’t touch.
One of us used to be a professional organizer. Oddly, not the one whose clothes look like this.
Mr. Perfect used to live alone. Mrs. Perfect has not been able to mount a successful case to take down the Periodic Table of Mixology from the kitchen wall. (It is luckily located behind the fridge.)
You guys. I live like a [fraternity] animal.
One of us used to be in the Army and has all his coins in a cute case. One of us IS in the Army, but hasn’t done enough cool stuff to warrant more than a tray of “neat tings.”
Neither of us are in charge. That title goes to the cats, especially the fat one who thinks he can fit in the tiny bed.
So what can YOU tell just by looking at your place?
There are only supposed to be seven deadly sins? Poppycat. Because I am thisclose to buying a $200 litter box. (It has a less PG term in this house.)
So what is THAT? It’s not commendable, surely, which makes it sin-ematic. It’s not really greed or envy…but it’s clearly stupid, because no cat needs to make turds in modern art, but…
It’s “where MODERN PETS DO THEIR BUSINESS.” Like a JOB. And it comes in all different colors and doesn’t make me want to die just looking at it.
Now, it does not mean that cleaning it out will be my job (I will do any chore but that) but… I could say it’s for the cats (selfless) but it’s really for me (super sin).
Ohh. Since it lives in the bathroom, it’s “vanity.” Got it.
