| Sunday, November 22, 2009 |
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Right now, I wish I was a hermit crab. That way I could slip quietly out of my old shell, leave it behind me without a backward glance, without another thought, and move right into the next empty space I found.
No boxes, no mortgage and – this part really makes my mouth water – no house-hunting.
House hunting is hard. It's not fun. It's frustrating.
In case you haven't noticed, we're living in a red-hot real estate market. This place is jumping.
For Sale signs pop up overnight, like mushrooms in the green grass along the street, and the houses sell quickly. Prices are setting records. That's not the best scenario for someone like me. Someone who's jugging a lot of responsibility. Someone who needs a little time. Someone on a budget.
I'd forgotten how much house hunting is like dating. Think about it. You look at a picture, or get a glimpse of well groomed shrubbery and shining windows as you drive by and you think, "Is that the one for me?" It might be, so you make a call and arrange a date.
Once you get your foot in the door, a closer look reveals the truth. It's not so attractive.
The shingles on the roof are thinning. The front porch is sagging. And the plumbing isn't reliable.
Moving from one house date to another leaves you fretting that you're running out of time. That you'll grow old without finding a place to love and call your own. It doesn't help that all your friends are making wonderful matches. They've hooked up with a solid American four-square or handsome Crafstman and all they want to talk about is how happy they are.
They spend their nights working on their new loves. You spend your nights with a real estate booklet looking for heat and hardwood.
I've just started house hunting and I'm already tired of it. I don't want to play the real estate field.
I want to commit. I want to settle down.
I want to send out invitations, buy flowers, shop for a new dress and have a housewarming.
I want to crawl back into my shell.