A decision is made

Sometimes the easiest way to make a decision is to have it taken away from you. The rickety but large house that we were considering putting a bid back in on went contingent, taking the baby with the bath water or something to that effect. Ergo; we went down to the local Starbucks, (and when I say local I mean the Starbucks that takes me upwards of forty minutes to get to because it is just outside the beltway, aka, a million miles away) and put in our fourth offer on a house. I'm thinking that I'm going to professionally write offers on houses for people. I'm good at initialing. Note: I am not good at initialing. My penmanship earned me a c- in second grade, by far the lowest grade I ever received in school. Thank goodness it didn't scar me Mrs. Wallace.

The thing about this house is that I really thing we're going to get it. And, as I've learned from other recent home buyer's apparently the only thing worse than looking for a house is actually getting it. (It's fine to end sentences with prepositions). Remember that girl/guy who you always wanted in high school? Remember when you saw her after your sophomore year in college when you suddenly realized that you were way cooler than you'd ever suspected. And you run into this person at a bar/party/Roman bath and you hit it off. And the whole time you're ignoring the fact that this person is actually not half as cool as you once thought they were because in your mind they are still the piece of candy/ice cream that you couldn't have. Eventually you wind up proving to yourself by going out on a couple of dates that you could have had them. And you're internally really excited, except you have a gnawing suspicion at the back of your mind that you're not actually dating the actual person, but the reflection of them that you've created in your mind. You're actually dating yourself in high school or junior high in some weird way. And after a while you realize that you've outgrown that, and that the person sucks, and that you'd rather watch that exact same plot unfold in a movie but life is a little more final.

That seems to me to be an apt metaphor for purchasing a home. In the rush to make it yours you look past all the flaws and lack of crown molding. Because, it is the the thing that you've always wanted. American dream and all. And you don't want to spend x amount of dollars on something that you don't really really want. So you sell yourself the house. And then you move in. And you realize the house isn't as pretty as you once thought it was. It's got roaches like every other place, and the neighbors are no longer college students, just quiet old people, and you find yourself missing the loud parties that came from upstairs that reminded you of being young. And even though you have a front porch no one ever walks by.

Of course, that's just a guess. Maybe finally getting a home will feel like winning the lottery. And I'm certain that I'll have a neighbor who will like dispensing wise advice over the privacy fence I'm going to build between our yards like Wilson. And if he/she doesn't have a fishing hat, I'll give them one.

M: Hello there Wilson.
Neighbor: Who the hell is Wilson?
M: I just don't don't know what to do about my kids. They are really driving me up the wall lately.
Neighbor: Why are you talking to me about your kids?
M: Thanks Wilson. I needed to hear that.
Neighbor: Are you insane?
M: I'll get you that fishing hat soon old pal.

And I'll learn to do things like pull out the sink to find rings, and I'll talk about things like caulking and grout constantly and become a real bore. I'm getting too excited. I'd better stop.