Okay, with my tail between my legs, I fess up: I'm an HGTV addict. When politics get too upsetting (and there's a lot of upset these days), I flip to "The Property Brothers." When the weather is gloomy and I want to feel better, I switch to "Love It or List It" where the ground is often covered in snow (It's Canada, after all) and the hosts and homeowners are usually bundled up against the cold. If I need another escape to the promise of warmer weather, "Beachfront Bargains" gives me hope that I, too, might be able to afford digs on a sandy beach somewhere in the southern U.S. (Though as someone who overdosed on sun as a young girl, the beach thing is probably not a good idea.)
My husband is ashamed that his wife is addicted. He is convinced that I've lost it and need treatment or an intervention. He catches me at all times day and night sitting in front of the TV, absorbed in the tearing out of kitchen cabinets and counters, knocking down interior walls, redoing en suite bathrooms. I've added "open concept" to my everyday vocabulary and bemoan the fact that our 1864 home doesn't quite qualify. We actually have walls and doors and can close off our kitchen from the living and dining rooms. I'm convinced that no one will want to buy our house.