Confession: I Slept With Gerard Butler

It's the truth.  I make no excuses.  No, it wasn't planned.  Yes, my husband is away.  Of course I regret it.  But, if you must know, only because of the dull ache and indent on my forearm from the sharp edge of his thin white spine and the crazy dreams that followed of fragmented images and misguided design.

I tried to resist him, but he was here for 2 whole days.  I mostly ignored him.  Well yes, there were long admiring glances and an occasional smile as I passed him lingering in the living room.  But, I told myself I was far to busy to invest any real time for the thrill of a few photos.  That all ended last night.  I caved.  I asended the stairs embracing him in my arms.  I turned the lights down low, and began to read.  He talked only of his loft.  I could tell he desperately wanted my approval.  I tried to say flattering things.  Such as how I admired his good sense in selecting the right designer to execute his style.  But, I quickly ran out of words and drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke, there he was grinning, looking a bit rumpled.  Him sitting in this chair could have been the beginning of a beautiful relationship, but it was not meant to be.  I had to relay my true feelings and told him that I thought these spaces are far too theatrical for the context of a New York loft.  He said that was the point.  Well, then you have disappointed my perception of what I thought your home would look like.  So, darling, unless you plan to dazzle me with something classic and sophisticated befitting of your Hollywood resume...it's over.  Reduced to nothing more than a cheap one night stand.  And, oh Gerry,  I am sorry if you thought I could keep this little secret between us.  Oops!  I'm a blogger...we share everything!!!

House Tour:

Whatever Gerry!

images courtesy of Architectural Digest