Nota Bene

This post is about a doily, and the battles it has caused. No, srsly.

See, living with a professional perfectionist trained interior designer means we can have deep meaningful conversations about lighting & colour, but it can also be a tad daunting. Especially when ten dollar words like vision and aesthetics are bandied about.

It’s not that we don’t see eye to eye on things. Yes, my love of ye olde Victorian and Edwardian bits is strong, but I prefer my living space simple & serene, almost stark, which is how he likes it too. But every once in a while scuffles break out over small things. Like the doily. Especially after Ironhead got into the habit of tucking it in my chest of drawers when he cleaned, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

I did.

I’ll admit, I got irritated round about the 4th time this happened, and whipped up a snit. After all, said the self-righteous little voice in my head, it’s one teeny tiny thing that makes me happy because it’s from my grandmother. It’s in the bedroom, so it’s not like it’s on display to the world at large. I live here too dammit…

End result? Accusations lobbed, rants about cohesion volleyed. Both sides laid claim to victory. But the doily remained.

After a while, I opted to let the doily ‘rest’ while I came up with some other way to display it and keep the peace.

But now he’s tri-ing my patience by turning our bedroom wall into his personal triathlete’s focal point. There’s a huge calendar. An Orca shirt. and now that the wetsuit has been purchased, there’s a hint of neoprene in the air.

I totally get that he needs to keep his goals in front of him, and I wouldn’t dream of asking him to take this all down - not if it helps him stay focused.

But there’s a part of me that’s tempted to not only put out the doily, but to go out and buy a couple dozen and put them all over the apartment, just to see the look on his face…