Housing

Today we looked at houses. It's a fun thing to do when you're only marginally employed. It's nice to stand there idly shifting glasses on your nose and then saying that you just aren't as crazy about granite as everyone else and that you feel that recycled glass is really preferable. It's nice because the sellers don't know that you couldn't be pre-approved for anything over 10,000. My favorite thing to do is to ask the real estate agent if they allow pets? Then, regardless of the answer, I regale them with stories of all the antics and capers that Mr. Jingles gets into at our house. Typically, I ask if I can bring the cat inside on the next visit because I really think we'll know it's home when he looks comfortable.
Meanwhile, back in reality, my wife is opening every closet and peering into it closely as if she's looking for Narnia. I'm pretty sure that we'll run into Mr. Tumnis (sp?) one of these days. Meanwhile, I'm checking out the window, trying to see what the neighbors look like, and she's down the hallyway wondering if we'd be able to fit two vacum cleaners into the hall closet.

She also has a proclivity for wandering into the basement straight away. I'm thinking that we should start asking the agents all sorts of questions about hook ups for bathrooms, and televisions et al in these places, and pretty much just never leave the basement.
"Do you want to see the master bedroom?"
"No, I think we're all set here just looking through the basement. How many trowels would you say you could put on that wall?"
Blank experssion. "Because the previous owners pushed out the wall, and they've really got a nice master suite upstairs."
"My wife and I are actually from an ancient race of trolls, and it's too complicated to get into it right now."
Agent, switching tactics, because it's their job. "Oh yeah, actually the couple who lived here before had a dog, which is kind of like a troll. Are trolls like dogs? And the deck. Have you seen the deck?"

Inevitably when we convene in the basement, and S mumbles something about the degree of available storage I say, "Just think how many bodies you could fit down here?" I'm pretty sure she appreciates the joke, though she only laughed the first time. I suspect that when she frowns and takes copious notes about the dimensions of the house in lieu of responding, she's really just trying to hold back explosive bits of laughter. This is what happens to a child of the 80's who saw "The Burbs" at too young of an age.