It was then it hit me he didn’t say much.
But he definitely communicated.
And this was further demonstrated when he turned hisattention to the foyer.
He was done in the kitchen, time to move on.
I didn’t move on.
“I like light, bright space.”
“Blinds closed,” he declared.
His voice was very deep.Not rough.Not smooth.
Just right.
Shit!
“I mean, I like bright space so that explains all thewhite,” I told him.
He didn’t care even a little bit about all the white.
His attention went again to the foyer.
“And I’m tidy,” I shared.
He looked to me.
Then immediately back to the foyer.
Okay then.
Time to move on.
I moved us on.
I took him along the short hall that contained the stairs tothe study and TV room on the other side of the house (more closing of blinds).
After that, I took him up the stairs and into the guestroom,bathroom and my pole room where I practiced and choreographed (he didn’t botherwith the shades in the guestroom, but the pole room was closed off for sure).
We then went into my master.
I was pretty proud of my house.You know, me buying it.Megutting it (or hiring someone who did that).Me decorating it.All on my own.No help.No man.
The little stripper that could.
And the master was themasterpiece.
The two-side slanted ceilings of a Tudor upper floor.Thediamond-paned windows that featured the window seat.The shelving around allthat filled with my beloved books (yeah, strippers read) and stereo.Theclean-lined lighting.The cool rattan rugs.The creamy tones of the couches andbedclothes, all this mixed with some warm orange notes in the toss pillows,because I liked orange.
Mo had no opinion on the color orange or the fact it wasclear I read a lot.
Mo assessed the fact my tall, but narrow windows (all fouracross, with two square on top) didn’t have blinds and his mouth got tight.
“The bathroom has frosted windows,” I shared helpfully.“Andthere aren’t any windows in the walk-in closet.”
The bed was against the back wall.
