His alarm clock bleeps at five-thirty every morning. He spends ten minutes in the shower, ten minutes shaving, five minutes blow-drying, five minutes getting dressed and thirty minutes having breakfast. At six-thirty am precisely, he leaves home. At six-thirty pm precisely, he returns home, climbing the steps of the elevated portico, the entrance to the classic mansion. Nothing spoils the harmony of this façade. Classic man will not even park his car in front of the house, least it spoils the symmetry.
Inside the acanthus-scented dwelling, the visitor can minuet to piped Handel and Bach, witnessing a plethora of perfect triangles, rectangles and circles inherent in the decoration. Indeed, there is a triangle propped over every doorway. Ask classic man if he is a mathematician, he smiles mysteriously and touches the side of his nose. Columns flank the entrance to every room, the ornamentation on top of which denotes the use of said room. The discerning visitor will be able to tell what the following mean: a statue of Venus and Adonis, a plaster cast of grapes and vine leaves, a bronze boar’s head, a gilt chamber pot…
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