Yesterday I felt like I lived in the smallest house in Charlotte. Sundays tend to do that to me. When the husband and the kids and I are all trapped inside the house for the afternoon, I start to feel my sanity slipping away...
Then tonight I remembered that I've actually been to the smallest house in Great Britain. It was about ten years ago, and my then-boyfriend has a picture of me standing by the door on his website, but the images are copyrighted so this will have to do as a substitute:
Just replace the old woman in the red cape with a younger me in a pink beret, and you get the picture. Here's a look at some other tiny abodes to keep in mind when 847 feels minuscule:
No comments:
Post a Comment