When I was single, I took pride in transforming my creaky old terrace into a cosy haven of Moroccan rugs, vintage pieces, rattan poufs and big, framed photos of my travels. I assumed, even if I got married, that I’d always have final say on decor decisions (much like my wannabe interior designer mum has with my dad). Then I fell in love with Mr Chick, a man with a rockin’ sense of style and way more opinions than the average bear. Yeah.
We hadn’t been married long when, one day, he excitedly arrived home with an unsanctioned artwork purchase: a huge, mounted rainbow collage of Bob Marley playing football. Naturally, I freaked out, but was also forced to come to the following realisations: 1) my carefully styled house would never be the same; 2) my husband was not the type to sit back and be a passenger in my ongoing decor crusade and 3) I would have to suck it up because it was now his home too. Luckily, we both like similar stuff so blending our needs and desires for how the house should look has been pretty easy. (Hey, I now love that Bob Marley artwork as much as he does.)