Trying to Live My Best Life in a Port Aransas Dream House
Outside, the waves crashed onto the shore, caressed by a gentle Gulf breeze. I, however, was inside my impeccably designed beach house—specifically, the en suite white-tiled bathroom next to my spacious bedroom—gazing dreamily at a chandelier made of hundreds of beige seashells hanging over the porcelain soaking tub. Perhaps it was time for a midday soak, I thought, adjusting the middle-age-appropriate tunic that I was wearing over my capri pants. “This is my me time,” I whispered into my glass of chilled white wine. “My mature, independent woman time. And I deserve this, dammit.” Then, just as I was about to belt out the chorus of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” into my hairbrush, I heard loud arguing, followed by the sound of a bag…View Original Post
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Source: Texas Monthly