"Do you love me more than the wallpaper?" I asked, batting my eyelashes

A little while ago I posted a picture here of my good self, most notable for a) the blonde locks and b) the hideous hideous wall paper. Anyone remember?
Good, because this is, is fact, relevant.

I'm currently dossing at Stuart's flat- and he really is being remarkably good about both my current late night obsessions; volunteer work in Mexico and the whole novel writing frenzy. But really, either the wallpaper goes, or I do.
It's that simple. Not all of it, but some, is... check- "My mother chose it when I moved in," he said.

Bloody straight men. I might have to marry him just because thats the only way in hell I'll be allowed to redecorate. And keep a roof over my head. Otherwise, anyone want to offer me floor space?