In June I got the keys. The keys!
I like to think that I'm a mature person. I did, indeed and in fact, read every document and ask lots of questions and run lots of numbers during the entire mortgage loan process, the inspection, and the last nerve-wracking flurry of paperwork, the walk-through, and the signing. But closing day was inner child time. I had to prevent myself from skipping like a third-grader out of the bank.
|A small thing. A symbolic thing.|
- I bought a sofa without knowing how big my living room really was.
- I spent hours browsing Overstock.com for area rugs for floors I didn't yet own.
- I stockpiled curtains, secondhand furniture, and thrift store finds in a corner of my apartment.
- I shopped for lamps. (I buy ugly lamps, remember?)
- I ransacked the paint chip displays at Lowe's.
I was pretty sure that I'd unlock the front door, waltz in, spread some paint around on some walls, plant some petunias out front, the place would be adorable, my problems would be over, and I'd be, all glossy magazine like, hosting some party while holding a swanky looking drink in my swanky living room.
Reality is more complicated. There were the reasons I bought the house:
|Linen closets in both upstairs and downstairs.|
|Corner cupboards in the dining room.|
|Beautiful oak fireplace.|
|Period light fixtures.|
|Once the first plumbing leak (yes, this is foreshadowing) was found, the wall was toast.|
|They either kept goats in here or sacrificed them. Maybe both.|
Did I buy the house? Yes. Do I love it? Yes. But...... There are some really, really gross things about this house too. Time to get to work (after a very, VERY large and therapeutic glass of wine....).