And by "My House" I do not mean the one we live in. I mean this one:
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which I'm hoping to just acquire. I want the (apparently very happy) family which is living there to inherit Great Aunt Millie's pre-earthquake Victorian in San Francisco. On Russian Hill. So that they're in such a good mood that they notice me stalking their house and just offer me first refusal out of the goodness of their heart.
I would, of course, take it.
And then I would live in a fab house on the same street as this, the most awesome porch treatment ever:
Yes, it's shabby-chic, which usually makes me want to boot, but which in this application made me pull out my phone and snap a photo. Yes. It's a piano, a white wrought-iron garden chair and a freaking candelabra. It's so Great Gatsby it makes me want to pull out my pearls and drink champagne in the afternoon.