I don't like to admit this very often, but the fact is, I am not a terribly glamorous person. I'm a little too careless and a little too bohemian to really pull off a glamour look on a daily basis. Sometimes I achieve greatness, but it is rare and fleeting, and anyway pretty soon my hair falls out or my mascara smudges and I am too busy enjoying myself to notice.
Which is all to say that I just adore this bedroom, but, alas, it is entirely beyond me. I could never maintain it. Soon the lucite nightstand would be littered with bobby pins and earrings, and hanging on that soft velvet cushion would be several pairs of pants that badly need to be dry-cleaned. And the bed would only be made once a week. And I would find a silly poster to put up next to that gorgeous photograph. (The poster would be framed--I'm not in a college dorm--but that's little consolation.) And the bed-skirt would never be ironed.
I'll never be that glamorous. This fleeting moment of untouchable beauty and calm isn't quite worth all the trouble.