Oh, well now there's a title. All will become clear tomorrow, I trust. Let's begin with a freshly minted indoor photo of our room's light fixture. Sorta Venetian, at first (deliberate entendre) blush.
Note that another chandelier, smaller but equally ornate, routinely bonks my scalp near the shower enclosure. I hate having to choose between soothing water washing across my shoulders, and that stiff piece of metal poking down into my head. The price of being scrubbed in Italy.
Then off to bed.
...Right here, under the swooping canopies trimmed with pink and framing two cast iron cupids affixed to the wall. Ah-ha... to relax beneath, or to swoon in view of?
Definitely the fussy doodads seem over the top in here. And pink, everywhere pink. Not necessarily every single feature, but the ubiquitous background—rosy, fuchsia, carmine, seashell, coral.
Pink.
Granted, many individuals in the abundant floral cascades peek out in a yellow/orange complexion, amongst their pink fellows. And yet there's a deeper commonality here.
None is the genuine, living article. Every last one of these blooming puppies (not poppies), within rooms and without in the fresh air, is plastic or silk. To be continued next time....
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