HURRICANE MARTHA: Part One

Usually, I'm the one who leaves clothes all over the house. Jason, on the other hand, hangs his coats up when he gets home, folds and puts his clothes away before bed, and, overall, is any roomate's dream-come-true. Bless his tidy soul.

So here in Sweden, when his shirts started popping up in odd places-- hanging off the chairs, off the arm of the sofa, off of the doorknobs-- it really grabbed my attention. I strangled back my curiosity for a few days, relishing the idea that I could feel slightly less messy in comparison.

Just kidding. This curiosity of mine takes no prisoners. The second that shirt showed up on the bedroom doorknob, I was all over him like Barbara Walters on Bigfoot.

"I noticed you've got a lot of shirts hanging out in the living room lately. What's up?"

I might sound slightly condescending saying this, but... his answer was just TOO ADORABLE:

"Oh, that. You know, I just thought this place needed some color."


This is the man who spent his first year of college in an apartment so bare it would have worried Gandhi.

Apparently after three years of living with yours truly, (whose "colorful" decorating style may give certain sensitive individuals Grand Mal seizures), my fella has been so overstimulated that the black, white, and red just wasn't cutting it for him.

I hardly noticed him leaving for school that morning, I was so wrapped up in my manic plot to--yes, you guessed it-- Martha-Stewart-meets-Tasmanian-Devil this place off the MAP.

Part 2 coming tomorrow.

Possibly Part 3 as well, if I wanna get really fancy.