Something very strange has happened. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I love and indeed desire kitchen spaces from the 1970s.
I don’t know how it happened—maybe this is related to excessive exposure to images of various Kardashians’ arctic-cold refrigerators, or seeing Joanna Gaines install too much monochromatic shiplap. It could be a nostalgia thing, reminding me of the view from my great aunt’s floor, or maybe it’s just the fact I haven’t been to an estate sale in two months and I am going through withdrawals. Whatever the reason, avocado appliances are suddenly looking extremely attractive.
Look at all those reds! You can practically warm your hands on them, and that dinner looks delicious. I can easily picture the copper wire fruit basket that almost certainly is hanging just outside the frame, full of onions.
Look at those chunky buttons on that blender. Think of how satisfying it would feel to press one on all the ingredients for a bloody mary.
I am consumed by the desire to refinish my entire home in earth tones and macramé literally anything and everything imaginable, while squinting at coverage of the latest Jimmy Carter speech on my television. Only instead of lining up around the block for gasoline, it’s toilet paper. Maybe I could macramé that, too?