House Envy
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House Envy
For many reasons I need to stop watching reality TV about house-flipping. I would like an intervention because chicken Twisties and house renovation shows are no longer a guilty secret, but bordering on a full blown obsession that ironically stop me from cleaning my own home. Twisties and reality TV also happen to go hand in hand perfectly. My couch addiction and its side-affects are quite obvious when I try to squeeze into my jeans.
My increasing backside size cannot use covid as an excuse anymore for not leaving the lounge. And nothing good comes from watching house renovation shows. The hosts are always genetically blessed and stop midway through a messy concrete pour to make some macrame pot plant holders to send to orphans overseas or some other nonsensical story line. There is a clear formula to making cheesy reality TV. And I am sadly here for it. The actual houses are simply too beautiful compared to my home that smells like a zoo that has been boarded up in the rain for two months.
All my husband hears is how we do not have a Mexican inspired arch entrance with 20-foot cactus plant in our foyer or actual gold embedded in the ensuite walls. This is a real thing. I present to you Hamish Blake and Zoe Foster Blake’s gazillion dollar new mansion unveiled in Sydney this week. The whole damn thing is pink. Even the kitchen. And the toilet. And yet somehow it looks incredibly cool. The radio funny man and the make-up empire business wizard are a pink power-house of money, taste and ambition.
If I painted our house salmon, it would look like The Pink Poodle that was famous in the glory days of Meter Maids and the Gold Coast. But not Hamish and Zoe. Nope. In their spare time from making LEGO shows they have whipped up a rambling rose ranch that is so bougee it hurts my heart. Before Covid days I once met Hamish and he was a total delight.
I was with my mother-in-law who is beautiful trouble. Betty is Irish Catholic and loves a tipple and a tells a fabulous tale. When we spotted Hamish in the booth next to us at The German Club restaurant we were both a little star-struck. So, we ordered two more bottles of wine and started making jokes we were grounded for the rest of the night as we could not possibly walk past him on the way to the toilets as we didn’t want Hamish seeing our curvy butts. Betty took great pleasure in telling Hamish this story when we plucked up the courage to purge to him later in the night that we sat with our bottoms on the booth so he wouldn’t judge our derrieres.
Hamish was the perfect gentleman and with a twinkle in his eye, humbly commented he thought we were both stunning women. Well played Hamish. You made a lady in her 70’s and a middle aged mum from regional Queensland very happy, some would even say as rosy as your ensuite.
