Today I realized that I am not, in fact, the lost love child of Martha Stewart and Cormac McCarthy.
Can I write? I like to think I can, and I really love it, so check.
Those are all the McCarthy traits. Oh, and my reclusiveness.
Can I bake? Hells ya. Check.
Can I cook a presentable dinner for 2-6? I have been known to, so check.
Can I keep a clean house? I have been working my ass off since we moved, and finally have a bit of a routine, so yes. Check.
Am I handy? Just spackled, patched, and sanded all the GIGANTIC ASS craters the previous owners left. Also was able to jimmy our storage shed when SB had a little accident involving the lock and a rolled up rug on the weekend. Also figured out how to un-install one of our kitchen cabinets while SB and his friend spent a minimum of ten minutes trying to push/hammer/pull it out. So, Check on the handy thing.
Can I decorate?
I don't think I can decorate!!!
Paint color choosing has proved to be about as much fun as pulling out my toenails. And don't get me started on how many conversations/arguments SB and I have had about choosing a new sofa. At least we have a dining set pretty much firmed up, although I'm sure in a week SB will decide he has changed his mind. Or the one we have chosen won't match whatever color we finally settle on, and the whole thing will have to go back in the mix again to figure out what's more important - the perfect color or the perfect dining set. Grrrrr.
On the bright side, the dishwasher that came with this place, that on the outside looks like a giant steaming heap of crap, is actually really fabulous. It is fast. And the dishes come out nice and squeaky and super dry. It could be quieter. And it definitely could be prettier. But man are our dishes clean.