Okay. I’ve been blogging for almost 10 years in various places. So, for the next 2 minutes, just allow me to be somebody else and completely pick on my beautiful wife. And sister. And their friend. And friends.
Because, like millions of people in America, Gilly (my wife), Emily (my sister), and countless other women (and non-traditional male)-type friends of theirs have taken on a near obsession with Young House Love.
In the interest of full disclosure, let me say this – I like YHL. They’re smart, they’re great writers, and they definitely know their stuff. End disclosure.
Because my wife and sister, on a recent double date with their husbands, spent at least an HOUR discussing John and Sherry, and how Clara is growing up so fast, and how the new house is better/worse/different than the old house, which was actually the middle house because the old house is now two houses removed.
We’ve read the YHL book. If Sher-dog paints her front door red, within two weeks we’re buying a gallon of “Farmhouse Apple.” If they install an exotic, eco-friendly, subfloor, we investigate it at great length (despite the fact that subfloors aren’t, you know, really ever used in Florida).
Oh, we keep up with Bower Power, too, but YHL is where it’s at. I can walk in one evening and say “hey, let’s reorganize the garage” and, like she’s got a giant database already accessed, she spins her macbook around and says “here’s what John and Sherry did . . . ”
John and Sherry. It’s gotten to the point where they are referred to so much that I’ve just taken to explaining them to our friends as “our friends” John and Sherry. Oh. What’s that? No. We’ve never actually met them. No. They don’t know we exist. Um. Well. They’re bloggers that Em follows.
What’s worse is now I do it . . . I’m at work, and this conversation ensues:
My boss: “So, we’re thinking of building a deck on the back of our house”
Me: (don’t do it. Don’t. She’ll think you’re nuts)
Me: (seriously man. You’ll sound like a crazy person)
Me (blurting): “Oh, John and Sherry just did that . . .”
My boss: “Who are John and Sherry?”
John and Sherry. Our friends.