I’m sorry that I’ve been kind of losery up in here — someone obviously forgot to drink their tiger blood — but you guys gotta cut me some slack (please). My mind is so feverishly feeble that I need a cane just to get to the other side of a sentence. Thank goodness Karly will be here tomorrow to rescue me, but until then you can watch me limp through this post like a broken gazelle. Don’t sick the hyenas on me just yet; I do at least have a few pretty pictures for you. Of beds. That I would like to lounge on. During the day.
They’re called daybeds.
Karly has one and now I want one, too… not that I could squeeze another single stick of furniture into this house. But as I’ve laid propped up on the couch for hours at a time, snotty toddler wheezing at my chest, watching Coraline and Nightmare Before Christmas (Ike has interesting taste) play like a stop action mobius strip across our tv, I’ve really found myself wishing we had a bed in the living room.
A daybed might be a little less squicky, right?
[Lonny, Marie Claire Maison]