I love my house. It's about 80 years old, so despite it's quirks and creaks and extreme lack of closet space, it's got a lot of character. But one thing I've never liked are the doors. Their brass locks and chunky glass knobs are appealing enough, but the doors themselves are stained very dark. And you know those quirks I mentioned? One of them is
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I can't tell you how many times stuff like that has happened to me.
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(I've long practice at finding my way around in the dark, as you might guess. I make sure to know the layout of my apartment really well and to move carefully while feeling ahead, and I've managed to never run into anything in the dark when getting up in the middle of the night. But then I'll stub my toe in broad fucking daylight on the edge of the bed. *sigh*)
And, of course, you can never tell anybody who asks how you got a bruise that you walked into a door, because they'll think it's a euphemism.
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I could so do that.
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