My sister, who I share a house with, has her heart set on redoing the bathroom in purple and peacock blue miniature tiles. She keeps using terms like ‘wet room’ and ‘spa experience’, while brandishing the Larper’s Bazaar home interiors section and hopping around in the hallway. I’m not sure how to address this, as I’d prefer to stand by and let her get over it of her own accord, but I’m not convinced that that’s going to happen.
It seems I’m going to have to actively intervene. Annoyingly, Artemis is already knee-deep in the process of finding a bathroom designer near Melbourne who’s willing to realise her garish vision. To be honest, I’m not sure there’s a lot I can do to put the brakes on at this point, and I’m wondering if I might as well cut my losses and embrace the situation. Maybe it’s not as over the top as I’m picturing, and ‘spa experience’ doesn’t sound so bad, all things considered.
We’ve always had different tastes, Artemis and I. People are often surprised to find that I don’t share her aesthetic sensibilities, but never vice versa. This irritates me no end. I was born four minutes earlier, after all, but it just so happens that Artemis’ outlandish style can’t help but dominate in any given setting. My more subtle take on things seems to go under the radar, so people assume that I’m more or less a watered-down version of her.
I suppose I do tend to let her dominate on the home interiors front. I mean, I let her get away with those kitchen renovations. Consultants based in Melbourne, being as they are, were all too receptive to her vision of a neon pink splashback and violet LEDs embedded in the floor. What we’ve ended up with is not dissimilar in vibe to a Bond villain nightspot (if the villain in question was Barbie), and I can’t really blame anyone else because I did nothing to intervene.
Maybe I am just a watered-down version of my twin.