Houses flanked the road. Giant, architect portfolio kinds of houses - composed of large picture windows, brick facades and carefully designed gables.
I couldn't help but take my eyes off the road as I drove past. They were impressive, I'd give them that. I imagined picture perfect living rooms painted a dark forest green with cherry wood accents. Kitchens with the marble islands in place, white-framed windows that provided views of the mountainscape as Mrs. Joe Public squeezed fresh orange juice into a pitcher ordered from Williams-Sonoma.
I realized that these are houses that friends of mine, people my age, are aspiring to. And then I realized that I wasn't a house kind of girl. At least, not like this.
Frankly, these houses intimidate me. I'm sure that they are much-loved, that they radiate warmth and comfort to the guests who step across the welcome mat. But they just seem so final, so set. So This Is Your Life.
I'd rather have a little nook to fill than an ought-to-be mansion.
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