When Peter and I got married it was two separate, individual, selfish, and independent worlds colliding.
I was a 27 year old single female with a successful job (in financial planning, managing about 5 million in assets, HEY! That is great for a 2nd year advisor!). I had a condo, a car, and a lifestyle of travel and leisure, planning get-aways with friends and having a constant stream of house (condo) visitors.
He was a 27 year old single male. Had been living on his own in Seattle for several years, doing school and dabbling in the Seattle grunge band scene and trying to find his way in life. He eventually decided to enter the family business (hotel management) and was managing a hotel in Renton, WA, doing his own thing, and attending a very small singles branch.
His taste was strictly modern.
My taste was strictly my own.
We clashed in many ways (and sometimes still do) but when we moved in together after dating only LONG DISTANCE for 6 months, it was a clash of the TITANS! We both had our own furniture, and we moved into an apartment in Eugene, OR. He was working, and I was newly unemployed. A position I had not been in in several (if ever?) years. I was ready for a life of wifehood. As much as a 27 year old strong minded, independent woman can be. I was NOT ready for compromise.
I figured our house would be MY own, and I determined that I would make it that way as soon as possible.
For the most part, our things meshed together in a sort of cheap eclectic way. I had my favorite items. He had his, but since we moved frequently, things, and pieces of furniture were constantly shifting, and where I could, I would banish the unsightly (to me) pieces of modern furniture, and conveniently replace them with things of my own choosing.
Peter, for the most part, relented.
He even told me that our house was my office, and I could do with it what I want.
However, there was ONE item that I was forbidden to get rid of.
The Orange Plastic Ikea Table.
It's first home was by our couch.
It's second home was in Peter's office.
It's home right now is in our garage.
And I am pretty sure it's next home will be to the dump. (JUST KIDDING HONEY! I WOULD NEVER!)
When I started painting my kitchen table orange a few days ago. Peter was bemused.
He chuckled, "An ORANGE table? I thought you didn't like those!"
Turns out, I didn't.
Turns out, I changed my mind.
I can remember a time where "orange" would have been a color I hate.
And now it seems, it is a color I cannot live without.
Maybe it is because I live in California now? And everything is sun and oranges? I am not quite sure what possessed me, but I am QUITE sure, I love it.
However, I am also quite sure I still don't love HIS orange table.
Probably his biggest gripe.
My "florescent orange urn"
Peter can't stand it.
Or rather, just can't believe it.
He is wondering what happened to me.
And to be honest, I just don't know.
Click HERE to see my kitchen BEFORE it's transformation