House # 4

My favorite thing about being on a house search is the quality time that S and I spend together in the evenings. Typically, S arrives home around 6:30 or so from work, meanwhile I've been slaving away on the 11-4 three day a week shift at the library, and starts to look at houses. She then proceeds to look at houses for about two to three hours, scrolling through pictures and trying to count the number of cabinets in the kitchen. Changing camera angles to see if she's missed one that just might be underneath the dishwasher. "I just need somewhere to put that cheese cloth I bought."
As it turns out cheese cloths have nothing to do with cheese. Or very little. Honestly, I don't know what a cheese cloth is.

"I like that they have an indoor pool and an English butler named Nigel or Jeeves depending on your preference, but I'm really going to need a spot for that cake cooling pan."

It's ostensibly like being married to a zombie, except instead of their sole desire being to eat your cranial fluids, their sole desire is to count kitchen cabinets. I guess the analogy breaks down rather quickly. Unless zombies enjoy stainless steel appliances as well. I know about as much about zombies as I do about cheese cloths.

The fourth house was charming. It was charming in the sort of way, where when you were on the second floor you noticed the floor slanting so precipitously that you find yourself wondering why they don't have a slip and slide laid down on the carpet. The closets had half of old staircases that lead to nowhere in them, which is actually useful. Every time I open my closet I'm thinking, "I could use a few random steps leading to nowhere. Who needs shoe space when you've got that?"
The back deck was falling apart and rickety in the sort of way that makes you want to be sure that your will is in order before you step out for some lemonade. That said, something about it was charming. In the same house where S would have closed the closet door in disgust, we described the odd protuberances as quirky. The original windows with cracked frames=quirky. The room with the five foot ceilings directly connected to the master bedroom=quirky.

S: I think this house is still settling.

M: When was this house built?
Seller: 1930.
Later
M: That's what they get for building on quicksand.

We watched another young couple walking around the house, taking lawn samples or something. Looking at the property in an authoritative way that indicated that they were interested. I'm not sure how to go about developing this look myself, but I'm thinking that a top hat and a waxed mustache might do the trick. Failing that, I'm thinking that it would be a good idea to start bringing a tent to all the open houses and claiming squatter's rights. Nothing says I want to buy this place like urinating on the front lawn at six A.M. out an open tent flap.

"What? No. This is just how I prefer to water the lawn. All natural my friend. Honey, wake up. I think we're going to have to leave."