Just De-Lovely and Delicious

My new house smells like honey. Seriously. At night so thick I can taste it, during the day a little lighter but still there, an amber-colored smell of something so sweet that I do not know its name, so I call it honey, like a man might call his lady friend after a long night. Deep breath in, deep breath in, what is that? Sometimes I forget to exhale. It smells so good I say to Bryan, and without fail he replies with it's because I farted. He's been saying that since I've known him, and I don't know which surprises me more: how many times I seem to remark on how good things smell or how unfailingly he attributes night blooming jasmine or garlic in a skillet to the stench of his own flatulence. I swear to god he could cheat on me then murder my family, I could get re-married eleven times and vow to forget him, but for the rest of my life I would never be able to say something smells good without anticipating his reply, it's because I farted. So yes, there's that: my new house smelling like honey. Any ideas what it is? And then there's this: a historical church in England renovated and converted into somebody's home. Something tells me this house might smell like bread and wine, perhaps the dank of stone and the warmth of church pews, but I still think I'd live there, tombstone garden and all.

Although it would be very hard not to feel as if you were living out some kinky sacrificial sexy role play here, on display for the congregation. Would you just be able to have procreational sex? Missionary, close your eyes and think of England?

And after we finish the mutton, we will adjourn to the apse for the rectory, the unholiest of communions... Can I help it if all religious words sound slightly dirty? I'm going to Hell, aren't I? Do you think these people put up a tree at Christmas?

But check out the bathtub: divine, and I'm not even saying that in a pretentious way. It truly is divine.

I wonder, though, if the church had to be deconsecrated before the couple moved in? Is there such a thing as deconsecrating? Or is that simply desecrating? And why am I now thinking of defecating and that 90's band Deee-lite? (God how I used to boogie to Groove is in the Heart.)

Of course the real desecration here is the collection of denim sofas. I'm just sayin'--a little piece of Land's End in God's House? De-No.

Granted my house is no church, and clearly I am no lady of the cloth. But there are Buddhas in my garden, a Greek Mati at my door, a portrait of the Virgin Mary on my fridge and at her feet sits Marilyn Monroe and Rita Hayworth. I planted lavender for good luck, tree ferns because they make me happy, and now my house smells like honey and is the best home I have ever made. And that I hold sacred.