Four Walls and a Bed
I’m buying a house. So it follows that you’re going to hear about it, probably a few times, since this isn’t the sort of thing that happens overnight. I don’t yet know what house I’m going to buy, but I know quite a few that I won’t. God tells me that I’m pickier than I need to be. I tell her that she’d be right if I were looking for a place to rent but as I’m buying it’s perfectly appropriate to be picky.
When you rent a home, you find someplace that seems like it will do, that is near enough to where you want to be, and that you can afford, and then you jump in. If it doesn’t work out, no harm, no foul, just find someplace else. But when you buy a place you’re either going to be stuck with it for a long while or you’ll likely be out a lot of money. Money isn’t everything but, well, it’s a lot of things. It does matter. It’s sad what that implies about humanity, but it’s still true.
And also, the place you buy says something about you. Much more so than a place you rent. I’d like it to at least say nice things to my face, even better if it says nice things behind my back. So I’m looking, I’m looking for a place that speaks to me, a place that will whisper sweet nothings into my ears when I go to bed at night. I guess that makes the online real estate sites just another dating service.
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