ISO house, must be clean. Please…

Posted: 15 July 2008 in Charlottesville, observations

We’re on our way to see our new house tomorrow. It’s a little like a blind date, of which I’ve had a couple.  One woman’s raucous laugh and heavy butch personality so clashed with my own that I might as well have walked in, thanked her for her time and walked out.  As it was, we had a lovely dinner, agreed to go our separate ways and occasionally exchanged happy greetings at the all night diner after closing hours at a club.  The other was a sweet person who might have been a successful date, had I not broken my ankle the evening before.  In the end, she was bound for Estonia and I was headed to Brazil and sweet or not, it’s hard to have fun with a broken leg. 

We’ve met this house before briefly.  So I suppose it’s more like a Missed Connections ad than anything else.  “You: Cute on the outside, slightly smelly inside, red and green bedrooms, gorgeous (and sexy!) skylight.  Me: Tired renter, also smelly.  Coffee, tea, me?”  The last time we saw her she was dingy and had a vague odor of eau de dog pee.  The master bedroom had been painted dark red and the spare room a fetching black-green.  The suspicious stain in the center of the carpet was addressed only briefly with a “We’ll take care of that.”  The realtor promised to return her to proper renting condition and so we signed a lease, hoping against hope that they actually gave her the bath she so desperately needed. 

In the end though, we have no idea what to expect when we walk through the door of our own house.  Like a blind date, if she’s unattractive or has a crass sense of humor, we’ll do what we can to civilize her and then ditch her in a year.  Hopefully, we’ll have the money to buy a house this time next year.  And believe me, when we go on that blind date, she had better be hot.

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Comments
  1. dylan says:

    Oh god housing. It’s such a pain in the ass. I’m in such turmoil about my housing situation I flinched just reading this entry. You’ll have to forgive me.

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