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Design and other ephemera

Over the past year or so (really, since I moved into this apartment I am so obsessed with perfecting), a reality has begun to dawn on my thick little mind. I need to marry a carpenter. I cannot count how many  times a week I think of something I’d like built for my apartment, and how often I am forced to abandon said idea when I remember that my own woodworking skills never evolved past the cutting board I made my mom in Industrial Arts class in the 7th grade (although to be fair, it was a pretty cool cutting board). But marrying a carpenter would solve this problem. I’d have an in-house expert in the wooden arts who, out of love and fidelity to yours truely, would have no choice, but to cater to these whims.

Say for instance, if I were suddenly taken with the notion of buying a bunch of antique wooden crates from vendors on Ebay, and having them incorporated into the design and construction of a dresser, that would be no problem. Like, if I wanted the sides of each box, the sides with the cool writing to serve as the front of each drawer, that would be a completely feasible request.

Alas, I am not married to a carpenter, so instead I must identify other options for said crates. I’m thinking they might live in my kitchen and dedicate themselves to a life of housing recyclables.

And since I am single, my dream of carpenter nuptials is still viable. It’s not like a have an accountant or a lawyer sharing my abode who I’d have to ditch.


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