I’m that guy. (as these posts usually start) I’m that guy who lives in a hick-town, where most guys want to “decorate” their home (if you can call it “decorate”) with neon-lit Budweiser mirrors, and hang towels or blankets over their windows to keep light out, and keep anyone from seeing in; where carpet is just another place to wipe the grease and mud from your boots, and where there’s really no reason to wipe the axle grease from your hand before you stick it on the wall over your toilet so you have something to lean on while you pee.
But what does that have to do with me? Well, in the midst of this neighborhood, I’m the guy who is totally down with decorating our house in a mash-up of Cottage, French Country and Tuscan design styles — Hell, I’m that guy who’s heard of any design styles that actually have a name. I’m that guy who’s okay with letting my wife hang lace curtains and put doilies on the tables. I’m the guy who wants to walk into my house and be taken away from Bucktuckley, Michigan and transported to a culturally enlightened utopia — Paris, or Rome, or the East Village, I guess.
I’m the guy who wants to spend the extra $ or $$ to get “Tuscan Bronze” faucets and light fixtures; who not only knows what “wainscoting” is, but also how to pronounce it AND wants it in his house. I’m the guy who wants lilacs in the yard, and hanging flower baskets on the porch; who makes sure to mix up Miracle Gro and put it on the plants weekly.
Or let’s just say that I’m that guy who wants his home to be pretty, inviting, clean; not just a grungy place to throw his Carhartts when he’s not working on his truck.