Somewhere in the back of all our closets is a yearbook containing a photo that we hope will never see the light of day. Let’s call it the Bill Compton (or any other hunky vampire hearthrob, and, sorry, Edward Cullen doesn’t count) of yearbook pics.

But unlike Sexy Bill, these photos are decidely unsexy: your hair doesn’t fit in the frame, you blinked at a bad time, you sneeze at a bad time, you wonder whether you left the crimping iron on in the bathroom, etc.

After a bajillion and a half trips to Target, three local Goodwillls, Walmart, Ross Dress for Less and Marshall’s, and after sanding, priming and painting at least three pieces of old furniture, I have finally settled into the humble abode I will be calling home for, hopefully, the next three years.