I like my round office, and, surprisingly, most of my visitors like it too. People around here are familiar with grain bins, and an office isn't the same as a house, so they'll give it more leeway to look weird. What they don't know about is my trauma upon discovering, when it was finished, that there was no room for the sofa I find essential for deep thinking, particularly the deep thinking I do after a big lunch. The solution to this involves an electric recliner/daybed thing I got at a local charity auction. I think deep thoughts in it every afternoon.

The tragedy of modern design inevitably falls hardest on the children. My sons have borne up remarkably well under the crushing stigma. One friend told them the place looks like "a pair of dumpsters," and another asked thoughtfully whether it was bulletproof. I'm not saying our house is scary, but in eight years we've never had a trick-or-treater. (Note to kids: Eight-year-old Reese's still taste pretty good!)

Fortunately, the boys' delusion is so complete that they claim they never want us to sell the place, which is just as well. Our architect advised us to strip off the steel and replace it with cedar if we ever decide to move. But I'm betting that sooner or later someone will figure out a way to commercialize all that stealth technology that's been developed for the military. Then maybe I can talk the local architectural review panel into taking up a collection for some high-tech siding that will make the place vanish altogether.
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