The Hunt

The first weekend of househunting left me slack-jawed at Boston-area home prices.  Over a million for houses that hadn't been updated since the mid-1970s, or for homes that had been redone, but in the worst possible way.  Some homes with no yard, or no garage (this ain't Florida--or even D.C.  I want a garage).  One pricey beauty backed up to the Turnpike and had a karate studio instead of a dining room. 

The second weekend of househunting, I realized I wasn't in Kansas (DC or Chicago) anymore.  Walking downstairs to check out the basement of a house that didn't suit us but that didn't have any other obvious problems, I asked, "Any disclosures?"

"No," the seller's agent replied.  "It's in perfect shape!"  She flipped on the light, and I found myself face to face with a giant rock fully occupying one third of the basement.  Apparently, I needed to add "no basement boulders" to my list of non-negotiables--turns out they're not uncommon in old New England cellars, but I'm reluctant to take out a mortgage to house one.

I don't even know what week of househunting we're currently on.  A couple days ago, I was engaged in my usual addiction hobby of updating the Redfin page on my browser and willing the perfect house into existence when it worked!  The perfect house appeared!  I knew the location; I knew the house; I knew I wanted it.  I knew it would be a gut-job, so nothing short of it being a haunted Superfund site would deter me.  At 11:15 p.m., the seller's agent (who had ignored our agent's calls) said we could see the property the next day, but that we had to be prepared to move fast as they were working with someone who was interested.  I convinced Greg that our tortured search had led us to this shining moment, and, at 2:00 a.m. we submitted a very strong offer on that house--sight unseen.  I imagined laughing over the story at the dinner parties we would have in our beautiful, late-19th century dining room.  My dream burst the next morning when we learned that they'd accepted the other peoples' offer at an unspecified time. . .  It was all very sketchy.  I'm sure they used our offer to get the other people up higher--other people whom, as it happens, were working with a broker in the same office as the seller.  I felt an Incredible Hulk-like rage.  I swore a lot, and threatened to rip the face off the seller's realtor, and was starting to turn a delicate shade of green when I realized that Buzzy and Rosie were listening, so I tried to calm down.  After a day of pretending to be over it, I'm finally actually over it.  (And the kids seem to be more responsive than usual, so that's a plus).

The search continues.  Our house is out there.  I hear there's a lovely one that recently came down in price, and it even has a karate studio on the premises.