Sorry, you'll never ever ever get me to step over that gap to get into the loft pod thingy. In my brain that gap has all the sucking vacuum power of a black hole and will surely kill me.
Nothing sells a house like a kid stripping in the middle of a mess.
Needs more gold leaf. The walls aren't shiny enough.
Crushed velvet is the eternal symbol of opulence. For vampires.
Maybe it's just me, but I think of my bedroom as a private place that I share with my husband and no one else. This sure is a lot of beds. Are we running a convalescent home now?
I would have LOVED to have a fancy tree in my room that matched my bedspread that I could decorate any way I liked. It would have been covered in orange cats and things that glow in the dark.
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