I risked life and limb for you today

I went and took a picture of my husband's office.

No, it's not some Bluebeard thing where I'm now going to be killed by my husband for trespassing on his private realm.  It's just incredibly messy.  Only I cannot tell him that without him getting all defensive.  He lacks time to organize blah blah blah... and I'm all, well, dude, that's why it's messy, right?  I'm not making personal judgments here, I'm not saying you're a bad person, I'm just sayin' the office is a death trap and someday you won't be able to find me because I'm buried under the gazillion printouts of EU laws and statutes.

He tried to "organize" the other day by trying to get rid of old research on grinding stones.  Ha ha, very funny, trying to "clean" by telling the archaeologist in the house that you are going to throw out old ARCHAEOLOGY RESEARCH!  That shit is so not happening.  He is apparently not going to part with all the journals, reports and newspaper articles regarding harbor projects in northern Germany.

Not that I'm making value judgments here.  Oh no.  But if it crushes the life from this very proportional and damn sexy body - WHO'S GOING TO WISH HE'D JUST LISTENED TO HIS WIFE??

So once again we are left with the problem of not enough book shelves and a complete disregard for the proper priorities in this house.

Meanwhile, in the living room....

You can see the parlor through the door.  I'm standing in the corner by the windows, which is why you can't see them.

Now I'm standing in the corner pictured above.  See the curtain?  That was one of the floor-to-ceiling curtains in my old Ebeltoft apartment.  I should really hem it so that it's not brushing the radiator, but I like seeing the whole length.  It reminds me that I have wicked high ceilings.  It also reminds me that these windows are some of the oldest in the house and lack a secondary window on the inside.  One pane of glass separates me from the weather.  And the tourists.  In the winter I fully expect to abandon this room as well as the parlor.  Or I'll pull an old Rhode Island trick where you tape plastic wrap (yes, the kitchen kind) over your window.  But for now we are serenaded every night by the Night Watchman who gives tours.  We aren't on the tour, but the building across from us is.

Heh heh heh... how does it feel to the attraction now, suckahs!

Finally, from the corner by the other window, you can see the tiny little door in the wall.  All the other doors are well over two meters tall, yet this little one is about 5 foot 9 and a half inches or 176 centimeters.  My husband is 190 cm.

Can you see how this will end?  In tears, every time.

And thus we now know that we will never be able to live in one of those cute little 17th century homes with low ceilings.  Because he just does not remember to duck.

If you duck through that little door, you find yourself in...

My husband's office.

I find it rather amusing that the tall man has to go through the short door to get to his office.  But that is just how it is.  He has an office at work, so he doesn't really need all that much office space at home.  Or so I insisted we decided.  There are three desks in that office.  THREE.  The white one is my old desk, there's a natural wood one made of two pillars of drawers topped by what may have been a door at one point, and a green teacher's podium.  Every surface is covered with something and there are three banana boxes of stuff visible in the photo and another four behind those and then three more behind the door just visible on the right.

That door leads to my office, and yes, it is a normal sized door.  When he remembers, he goes through my office.

We've now made it one quarter of the way through my house!

Sweet Mary mother of god, my house is too damn big.