Did Mo like fresh, clean and bright?
Did he have a problem with the salmon accents?
I mean, my armchair was salmon.Was that too feminine?
And if he sat on the sofa, would he bang his head on mystanding lamp that arched over the side?(Thank God it was black.)
“Uh,” I swept out a hand, making a mental note to adjust thearch of the lamp, and turned to him, “this is the living room.”
He said nothing.
But he walked to the window closest to him and myblinds—which were only partially lowered because they looked good that way,giving the room a warmer feeling from the wood—came down because he made thatso.
He then lumbered over to the other window and did the same.
“Okay, so no one looking in, right?”I guessed, feeling theroom turn suddenly chilly, and not because the sun was no longer shining intoit.
He turned and dipped his chin to me.
He then looked toward the open plan dining room and kitchenthat fed from the living room and moved there.
I followed him.
The (white) dining room table had a turquoise block rugunder it.
That was good.
But the kitchen had oversized, gleaming white subway tileall over the walls.Stark white counters.Though one side was white cupboards,the other side was black, and I had one below-counter, hunter green cupboard tothrow in some contrast.The railing to the stairs that led down to the backdoor was white, but the door was black.
More bamboo shades, no curtains.
And the floor was tiled in a kickass black and whiteartisanal design and the light fixtures were gold.
The hunter green wassemimanly.
Did men do white?
At all?
I realized when Mo made the rounds of the blinds in thedining room and kitchen that he didn’t care about artisanal floors or mystemmed, wide but shallow wooden fruit bowl and whether or not that fruit bowlwas feminine or mostly unisex.
Through his ministrations, the entire space was shrouded indarkness, so I flipped a light switch.
And he didn’t care about the gold fixtures.
He was again looking at me.
“While this is going on, you should feel free to eat anddrink what you want,” I offered and opened the door to my fridge (white SMEG,dammit, SMEG was definitely girlie, wasn’t it?).“You cover my ass,mi casais definitelysucasa.”
His gaze flicked to the inside of the fridge and his faceregistered open approval I could not miss before it came back to me.
So, he ate healthy too.
And maybe he approved of my obsessive lining up of stuff andtidy placement and (perhaps OCD) usage of matching food storage containers.
If he did, this would be good.
I mean, it looked like a Container Store ad in there.
