Walking into my aunt Francey’s home was like walking into the world of the rich and famous. The phrase walking on eggshells comes to mind when even thinking of entering my aunt’s house
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Oy. It would be terribly stressful to have to be in a house like that, afraid to be yourself, afraid of knocking something over... it's like being in a museum rather than a home. That would be so tough.
Oh yes, when you have no idea if she has moved things that can be broken it is even worse. She had lots of pretty things but blast if I did not feel like I was on eggshells every time I went over there.
God yes this. Home is supposed to be where you go to get away from all that arbitrary nonsense about not putting your feet on things. If you can't feel comfortable in your own home, where else is there to go? Starbucks?
It used to be in a lot of cultures that the guest bedroom was the best bedroom, and the master bedroom was somewhat smaller and less well-equipped, because it was considered a privilege to keep guests--the idea being that one day you would be a guest in someone else's home and they would repay you by treating you in the same style. I kind of miss that idea.
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