The waters of my new home are fantastic. This was no accident. On the contrary, it was a prerequisite.
"All waters must be marvelous!" I said the the architect, the landscape designer, the interior designer, and God.
And so they are.
Here is the view from the living room. It was here that I conceived of the Great American Novel as well as the Most Beloved Film of All Time and the Ultimate Jam. You're probably dancing to the Ultimate Jam right now. But here's the secret: it wasn't me. It was the water. All creativity comes from the water.
Upstairs, you will find the soft, silky waters for my delicate unmentionables. How delicate? Well, let's just say that part of the routine demands that a plump, Egyptian lady gives my undies a gentle roiling before spreading them on a bed of fresh lavender to dry en plein air. Otherwise, they pinch my parts.
Speaking of laundry, though I haven't touched it myself in years, I do feel it my duty to make sure all the products match the wood accents and tile.
You know when you go to the fridge, open the door, and forget that you want to go for a dip? Ugh, I can't stand it! So, working with a dream therapist and a chakra masseur, we devised this solution. Works well. Though sometimes when I'm in the little pool I remember that I wanted a sandwich.
This is the view from the dockside of the house. It's really done wonders for my core strength to have to get up from those deck chairs every now and again for another Margarita. That is if if Milagra, my Margarita lady, is on vakay. Otherwise, she brings it to me and I still stay skinny. And now you're wondering how that's possible. I'm telling you, it's the water.
Ah, yes. The Tub. That's what I call the water on the outside of the glass. The water inside I call The Bowl. They both provide miracles and sanity.
Finally, here's the pool. I'm not exactly sure who that woman is or what kind of drivel she is reading but she needs to get the hell out of my delusional daydream, like, now.
House and Leisure
Lee Ledbetter and Associates