I'm about as good at interior decorating as I am at tap dancing- really really bad. Our apartment is full of bare walls and Target lamps. It wasn't a big deal in Provo because our apartment was the size of a shoe box. But now we're in a grown-up apartment that has some sort of square foot count and it is painfully obvious how little effort I have put into sprucing up the place. I hung a few frames (crookedly), and haven't even bothered to rehang the ones that have already fallen down. I do, however, have one knick knack displayed in the living room. The wooden giraffe.
I bought him while in Namibia, along with fifty other items I have since lost. But for some reason the giraffe has been with me through probably ten different apartments and is the lone survivor of the college move every semester life. And now it sits proudly, boasting my world travel record, making me feel like I at least tried a little to add color to our humble abode.
Did I write all this just so I would have an excuse to take a picture of the giraffe? Yes. Yes I did.
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