Mr. W and I have looked at a fair number of houses — some not so good, some not so bad, and almost all containing at least one wood-paneled room. Seriously what is wrong with these wood-paneling people? I am not a middle-aged man from 1955 who smokes cigars and drinks cognac. I do not need wood-paneling on my walls, thank you.
Lest you think I am exaggerating, there is this…
And this…
And this…
In this picture I am studiously taking notes about something, most likely about the horrid throw pillow before me. They are the wood-paneled wall of throw pillows.
None of those houses are contenders. We have one more house to look at, hopefully this week, but have our sites on one house so far. It needs some updating, which I am not crazy about, but also has these weird intercoms from the seventies in every room. And I mean, every room. If I need to tell Mr. W that we are out of milk while he is showering in the random basement shower, there’s an intercom for that. He thinks it’s awesome, and I can admit I can see some great possibilities featuring a new speaker system and iPod docks, but as they are right now they really creep me out.
Mr. W didn’t get any pictures of the weird intercoms, but I Googled them and found the exact one that is in the kitchen (for those all-important out-of-milk updates):
It’s like something out of those cheesy B movies that they watch on Mystery Science Theater. “Increase the Flash Gorden noise and put more science stuff around!”
And then I’m throwing this last picture in here… it has nothing to do with houses, but we look cute even if my neck does look a little broken.
