Threesome

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I’ve never had one. Let’s get that straight from the start. No judgement for those of you who have. Seriously. I truly believe, to each their own. I’ve just never had an interest in that type of extravaganza. I mean…I imagine that they’re an extravaganza? How in the world could a hot, tangled mess of sweaty arms and legs be calm and relaxing? I picture mixed emotions, serious nerves and if I had to partake, a gallon of wine or some other mind altering something nearby to get me through it.

So knowing all of that, it’s no surprise that the last two weeks have been slightly stressful for my world of Homes by 1962. Here’s why: I’ve been flirting with the idea of a threesome. It was never my intention. I always saw myself making over one man at a time. But sometimes life gives us a curve ball, and I felt like this ball was worth a swing. I mean, who doesn’t love the feeling of running past home base twice?

Two houses at once had my wheels spinning. The rush of buying one house right, designing the palette, reworking the floor plan, agonizing over kitchen finishes, executing and selling, is the best. But two? Tossing the idea around in my head had me giddy. Like…I can’t get the words out fast enough while bouncing up and down in my seat giddy.

Let me bring you up to speed. Week before last, out of nowhere, Mr. 1960 stepped into my view. I thought, “well hello there handsome, where have you been for the past three months?” We had a fast and furious…actually, super friendly and professional…negotiation over that weekend. By Monday evening, it was official. We were under contract! We’ve been doing our due diligence and as of now, he checks out. I’m full speed ahead on designing his new look, drawing up plans, and deciding on finishes. I don’t mess around with these guys. When I feel the spark, I run with it. There’s nothing better than good chemistry and a well lit flame. Mr. 1960 and I are in full swing, wooing romance phase. I’m loving every minute and can honestly say that I’ve fallen for him.

Meanwhile, it’s no secret that I haven’t been able to let go of Mr. 1962…a.k.a. Mr. Frank Sinatra fabulous. Are you tired of hearing about him or seeing my longing reflection in his wall of windows? I met him in April and can’t shake him. I’m hooked. Heart dropping hooked. Each time I’m close to him (yes, I’m guilty of the drive by) my car somehow finds it’s way towards him and before I know it, we’re face to face. Some days I’ll get out and walk around. Other days, I just sit and stare. Pathetic. I see his entire palette in my head and we even started some preliminary design concepts. But…for reasons that are nothing more than boring business details, the love affair is on hold. The dreaded holding pattern. Committing to Mr. 1960 while still working out Mr. 1962’s details, brought on a threesome temptation.

I flirted with the idea seriously and let myself go there. I peeked under the sheets and caught glimpse of the would be, crowded but well choreographed make out sessions. Back and forth from one guy to the other checking on crews, hauling around double the finish samples, keeping track of two budgets and sitting up each night working and re-working the two of them to the best of my ability. It all played out right in front of me and I actually liked what I saw. I even passed the idea by my mother. “Well of course you can handle two, Allison. That’s no hill for a stepper!” So after mom’s approval, I was two steps away from climbing confidently into the bed. I had wrapped my head around dirty details and had convinced myself that I could do it. At that very moment…foul ball. Daunting details derailed the ultimate real estate threesome. Buzz. Kill.

The let down and letting go was quickly engulfed by a wave of guilt. I let it crash right on me. Drenched, I thought to myself, “Was one man not enough?” Mr. 1960 is everything I’ve been looking for. He’s in the right location, the perfect size and lends himself beautifully to the easy breezy, Palm Springs vibe I’ve been ready to create. Why was I distracted by the all you can eat buffet when I had a fresh, well portioned, entrĂ©e right in front of me? I could leave the restaurant feeling sick having to unbutton my jeans or walk out happily satisfied. Insert another mom-ism here having heard the latest turn of events, “Well, hogs do get slaughtered and pigs get fat.” Thanks mom. You told me I was a stepper, not a pig.

Obviously, I’m beginning to think that threesomes aren’t my thing. There’s nothing wrong with a hot and heavy, one man makeover. Mr. 1960 has my undivided attention. I’m leaning over the table with a glass of wine in one hand, a delicious meal in front of me and I’m captivated by our conversation. We’re hitting on all eights with entertaining banter and an undeniable attraction in between. I lose track of time when I’m with him…a good sign. I’m pouring every ounce of creativity into this guy. Mr. 1960 and I will hand hold through the remainder of the escrow and continue our walk towards the closing sunset.

Three’s a crowd, third wheels feel awkward and let’s be honest…a threesome would most likely lead me to three sheets to the wind. For now, I’ll keep my eye on my summer romance. He’s got great potential and has been a perfect gentleman so far. Our future looks bright. Mr. 1960 is a good man; and like I’ve said before, good men are hard to find.



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