I am a dink. I’d love not to be, but I am. I am a dink with a spacious 5 bedrooms home in the ‘burbs. Looking at the baskets of clothes I have lined up in my half of the walk-in wardrobe I knew there had to be a better way. Without kicking hubby out, which had occurred to me. I’d seen my sister operate a wardrobe room in the past. She called it a dressing room, being very proper about it all. I loved it. We all giggled a little. But a seed was planted. The Liv moved into her new home and claimed a spare room as a wardrobe room and I got determined.
I needed one.
I want to know what clothes I have, the jewellery; everything. I want it laid out. I want my own space back since Hubby has crapped up the office on me. Well you have babe, you know you have, that pile of filing on the floor isn’t doing itself now, is it? So I spoke with Hubby and we both agreed that a wardrobe room it is. Somewhere to layout outfit photo outfits, somewhere to actually be able to hang all my clothes. Somewhere to hang the necklaces so they stop living in a tangled ball.
And so it begins.
The building of, my wardrobe room.
It’s so freaking extravagant.
It makes me smile.
2012 has all been about extravagant, it turns out.
I’ll keep you posted.
Suger 
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