I'm in love with this creepy old house in my neighborhood. I say creepy because it's clearly in disrepair, it has a hollow dead tree out front, and it's this particular shade of white that makes me think of old-fashioned mental hospitals. I drive past it every day, and lately I've been gripped by an illogical desire to drop everything, buy this house, and turn it into an inn. It has several detached garages that would make perfect tiny-house style honeymoon cabins.
Am I crazy? Who owns this house? How much restoration does it need? Who wants to give me a small-business loan? Is my life progressively becoming a parallel of the television series Gilmore Girls? If so, is this a coincidence or a self-fulfilling prophecy? These are questions I need answers to.
CREDITS: gray skinny jeans — J.Brand | Layered knit and folded-hem blouse — 10 Crosby Derek Lam | suede peep-toe shoes — Anthropologie | blush-colored blazer — Asos