How Sweet It ISN’T.
My hubby and I didn’t live together before we got married. So when it came time for me to move in, he had to drag me kicking, screaming, and punching.
He was a bachelor. Had a MAJOR bachelor pad. I mean, this could rival most bachelor pads. And let’s not forget – he is a decade older than me, so his stuff was just…OLD.
But financially, it made sense to live there for a short time – we had plans to buy a house.
First up: boatloads of dye cast cars:
Don’t think that’s alot? That is about 1/64th of the collection. Strewn about the small townhouse.
Some mini cars, lucky to still be living here:
On the nice bookcase in the family room, sat these:
Sidney Crosby. What a hottie.
The downstairs wasn’t terrible. It was almost terrible. The whole place probably hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned since 1985.
No offense to my hubs. He was a bachelor, after all.
Let’s just say…How sweet it WASN’T.
Once you ventured up the spooky staircase and made your way into the bedroom, you were greeted by this guy:
Yes, folks. That is a FRAMED (and autographed) picture of a WWF wrestler. OR WCW. Or whatever the heck it is. FRAMED.
IN A FRAME. With glass over it. HANGING ON THE WALL.
There were multiples. Including Chris Benoit, that nice wrestler that murdered his wife, dwarfed son, and then hung himself. Wouldn’t you want him, FRAMED, hanging on your wall?
Alas, I have allowed Mr. Hunt to hang some of his photos in his room:
I am fine with this. We all need our space.
However, there is one battle I did not win:
He creeps the bejesus out of me.
There is no room for him in the garage. Not that I would move him there.
Just look at how he stares at me.
He would totally kill me in my sleep.