June 21, 2016 With rooms the color of a dead armadillo, peeling wallpaper in the bath, and red-“brick” linoleum in the kitchen, how could I ever host a book club in my recently purchased 1958 ranch? My slapdash housekeeping would earn a wagging finger from Heloise and send Madame Bovary calling for the smelling salts.
Read moreDinner with Madame Bovary
How could I possibly host a book-club dinner on chipped china and a second-hand table?