A residence, maintained with an eerie sort of perfection. the walk is clean, the grass is perfectly trimmed with painstaking care- not even tire treads where the mower runs it over- and a perfectly manicred hedge extending just to the top of the neighbor's picket fence.
The flower garden is just as perfectly arranged- oddly enough, apparently with feng shui in mind. And all the flowers are, of course, in perfect bloom.
A single affront to taste- that is, if the entire lawn and front yard didn't slap you in the face as it was- was a single gnome apparently taking a leak in a supposedly cute and humorous manner behind one of the flower bushes.
Through the perfectly white door. The hall is all picked up, and not even a speck of dust. Various knickknacks pile around the room, making the impression that although someone lived here, they seemed to do so merly because they preferred it to storage. The kitchen and living rooms seem to carry on this message, also managing to achieve their function with cutesy-poo kitchy crap on the walls and various appliances.
Only up the stairs- for two stories it is, remember, it's that perfect house in your mind- do the real personalities of the people living here begin to show. The parent's room is a stash of various clashing interests- music, Kevin Costner, and Randolph Scott (RANDOOOOOLPH SCOOOOT!) to name a few.
And, as for the kid's room, well, it seems to be kept a few degrees cooler than the rest of the house, though that may just be the kid. For you see, this is the home of the Refrigerator, and it shows. Little newspaper clippings line a small bulletin board, as well as a hamster cage. A large poster with an icicle guitar and the words 'STAY FROSTY' on it are there as well, and a high fidelity stereo system. But... No TV. And only the most basic of computers.
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