Home for the holidays…
"I feel foolish that I came outside carrying a wreath, hammer and nail," she said as they stood outside their glass house. He took the wreath from her hand, hung it on the doorknob and said, "Let the holidays begin."
They raised their glasses to "less is more" and kept the tree ornament-free this year.
"The more the merrier," he said as she invited yet another guest. "If we overextend anything else this season, it should certainly be our table."
"What's next on our holiday to-do list?" she asked. He tossed aside the calendar, poured a drink and replied, "It is time we begin our long winter's nap."
Not understanding this new game, Miles watched as she hid his bone in a box – and then he buried her tape dispenser in the yard.
Dressing for the party (and thinking the bedspread would make a great wrap) she could hear him singing in the shower, "Let it snow, let it snow, oh please let it snow."
When he winced at each tick of the Nelson Ball Clock, she knew he had become a one-martini-only man.
As their weekend guests stayed for a fifth day, he began to wonder if they'd made the spare room a wee bit too comfortable.
They had made their list and checked it twice, and then opened their doors to those naughty and nice.
Photography by Jim Bastardo
Styling by Marcus Hay
Story by Gwendolyn Horton
House by architect Arthur Witthoefft