confession

There are multiple ways for me to drive to school. All of them involve crossing the Connecticut River, but once I do that, the paths diverge. One is the miracle mile, which I occasionally take when I need to stop at Trader Joe's for necessities like pineapple. Another is prettier--a windy road through some farms.

If I have a few minutes to spare in the morning, I usually take the third way: also a pretty, windy road through farms, but it goes past this teeny tiny house that looks like it's maybe two rooms big. I love it. I want it. For keeps.

I've always had a weird attraction to small houses. To get really personal, I'll confess that, while most little girls used to wish they'd land on Queen Frostine's square in Candy Land, I always wanted to land on Grandma Nut's square. She had the cutest little peanut brittle house!

Now I know I'm not the only one. Behold! Cabin Porn.

It's like they read my mind.

Now if only someone would create a Tumblr of Schmidt holding puffins & saying funny shit. Then I'd be set.