Curb appeal
(This column appears March 4 in The Ticket, the weekend magazine that I edit that appears inside The Kingston Whig-Standard)
I've learned two things about myself while I've been house hunting.
1) House shopping makes me insane.
2) House shopping has greatly improved my vocabulary.
This week, it was almost all over. I thought I was going to become a homeowner. There I was, sitting in a coffee shop with the boyfriend and our real estate agent, signing another offer on another house. We wanted this perfect little house so badly that we had increased our budget so much that I was starting to feel nauseated, woozy and crazy. Half of me was really trying to pay attention to what the boyfriend and our agent were saying about the deal but the other half of me was lost in the sea of zeros on our offer. I was trying to figure out how many trips to Maui, Paris or New York City I could take for the same amount I was willing to dish on this pile of bricks and mortar (and, OK, fabulous Jacuzzi bath tub.) Pre-approved ... Home inspection ... Re-sale value ... Mortgage ... Sign back ... Home equity line of credit ... Assessed value ...Property tax ... Closing date ...The broker ... The banker ... The candlestick maker ... The terms were swirling around my head and I could really only think of one phrase. I felt like it was hanging over my head, flashing in red neon lights for all to see: House poor! House poor! House poor! As I signed a million times on the dotted line, I really was starting to feel a tidal wave of panic wash over me. I had barely noticed that a lovely looking, older woman, who looked like someone's sweet grandmother, had wandered over from her table to ours. "Excuse me, dear," she said so quietly, she was almost whispering. I looked up from my pile of paperwork and smiled at her. I honestly thought she was going to tell me I looked poor and pasty and perhaps I should lie down for while. "Are you the editor of The Ticket?" she asked. This was it, I thought. I'm in the middle of signing an offer that effectively swallows every cent I've ever had and will ever have and now, this very lovely older reader was going to launch into some sort of complaint about the newspaper. I took a deep breath and waited for it.
"You're much prettier in person, dear," she said quietly with a big smile.
And after that, for a few precious seconds, I no longer felt like I had the house-buying hysteria because I had what truly, really matters in this world.
I, Sarah Crosbie, have curb appeal.
I've learned two things about myself while I've been house hunting.
1) House shopping makes me insane.
2) House shopping has greatly improved my vocabulary.
This week, it was almost all over. I thought I was going to become a homeowner. There I was, sitting in a coffee shop with the boyfriend and our real estate agent, signing another offer on another house. We wanted this perfect little house so badly that we had increased our budget so much that I was starting to feel nauseated, woozy and crazy. Half of me was really trying to pay attention to what the boyfriend and our agent were saying about the deal but the other half of me was lost in the sea of zeros on our offer. I was trying to figure out how many trips to Maui, Paris or New York City I could take for the same amount I was willing to dish on this pile of bricks and mortar (and, OK, fabulous Jacuzzi bath tub.) Pre-approved ... Home inspection ... Re-sale value ... Mortgage ... Sign back ... Home equity line of credit ... Assessed value ...Property tax ... Closing date ...The broker ... The banker ... The candlestick maker ... The terms were swirling around my head and I could really only think of one phrase. I felt like it was hanging over my head, flashing in red neon lights for all to see: House poor! House poor! House poor! As I signed a million times on the dotted line, I really was starting to feel a tidal wave of panic wash over me. I had barely noticed that a lovely looking, older woman, who looked like someone's sweet grandmother, had wandered over from her table to ours. "Excuse me, dear," she said so quietly, she was almost whispering. I looked up from my pile of paperwork and smiled at her. I honestly thought she was going to tell me I looked poor and pasty and perhaps I should lie down for while. "Are you the editor of The Ticket?" she asked. This was it, I thought. I'm in the middle of signing an offer that effectively swallows every cent I've ever had and will ever have and now, this very lovely older reader was going to launch into some sort of complaint about the newspaper. I took a deep breath and waited for it.
"You're much prettier in person, dear," she said quietly with a big smile.
And after that, for a few precious seconds, I no longer felt like I had the house-buying hysteria because I had what truly, really matters in this world.
I, Sarah Crosbie, have curb appeal.
1 Comments:
Yeah, but what's your best feature - the back porch or the front verandah?
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