I've been called a lot of things...

This afternoon, an old friend of Jess' mother's (and ours) dropped by to visit. I love this woman, she is very sweet. She hadn't seen the house since we remodeled and so we visited for awhile and then gave her the tour. While she had indicated before she saw the house that she was hoping to see that we had kept some of the familiar items, she wasn't disappointed with the result, and she told us that Jess' mom would have loved what we had done.

Anyway, while on the tour of the bedrooms, she stepped into the guest bedroom (which was formerly Mom's room) and said, "Oh my!" She was surprised by the eggplant walls, the bedcoverings, everything. I think it was probably overwhelming for her, as it was nothing like she knew it. "It's not my taste, but I can still admire it," she remarked, running her hand lightly over the bedspread. "Was this your grandmother's, too?" she asked (since we had told her that the furniture in the room was his grandmother's). I told her no and that I had purchased it recently. And then she dropped the bomb.

"It looks like the room belongs to a lady of the night."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was speechless.

"Do you know what a lady of the night is? That's an old term."

"Oh, of course I do. I am familiar with the term."

"Well," she said, correcting herself ever-so-slightly, "an expensive one."

I have a hooker's taste. Lovely!

I later remarked to Jess that I felt like Frenchy in Grease during the Frankie Avalon "angel" scene:

Well, they couldn't teach you anything/you think you're such a looker/but no customer would go to you unless she was a hooker!

Maybe I should give up my dream to be an interior designer.