When Blair came home from work on Friday, I met him at the front door.
"Hello!" I said, blocking his path into the house.
"Hello," he said in that cautious tone which, hmm, he does seem to use around me quite a bit.
"Would you agree change is good?" I asked. "Kind of gives new verve to life?"
"Oh God," he answered, the fear now evident in his eyes. "What have you done?"
Nothing so bad. I was cleaning the library sitting room on Friday when it struck me, That couch would look a lot better over there. So I moved it. Which meant moving the chair. And the ottoman. And lamp and coffee table. In my excitment, I may have charged into the breakfast area and shoved the table under the window, moved a plant, brought in a rug from the hallway and and moved a cabinet. In short, certain rooms of the house were unrecognizable.
I'd forgotten how much fun it is to rearrange a room. I used to move my furniture around all the time in my bedroom as a kid. Even if the new arrangments aren't better, just having items in a different place kind of shakes up your world and lets some fresh air into life.
At least, that's my take. And, as it turns out, Blair's as well. He's fine with the rearrangment. I doubt we'll keep it this way for too long (truthfully, the library probably looked better the other way) but again--something different every now and again is fun.
He's just lucky I'm not strong enough by myself to move the bed. Who knows what he may have come home to?