I've Been Unfaithful
I have a confession to make. I never, ever dreamed I would be in this situation, but an email last week changed everything. Before I knew it, I was climbing into the cab of a super-sized pick-up truck and heading out of my neighborhood, leaving my husband and kids behind. Oh sure, I returned that night, but something inside me has irrevocably changed and I will never be the same. Even though I'm here, my heart is there.
You wouldn't be so suprised if I detailed my current living situation, the drabness, how things have broken down without warning. When I was there the other night, I felt whole and new, like a rereleased song with enhanced digital remixing. And when the all-too-short moments passed, we went to Starbucks and drank hot drinks and shivered in the air-conditioning and talked about it. We talked about other things, too, and then I climbed back into the pick-up and back to my regular life in my worn house built in 1972 filled with shabby-not-chic furniture.
I'm in love (you might call it "lust," but I think this is the Real Thing) and I don't think it's too soon to admit it. When you fall in love, no amount of boring logic and reasonable thought matters. When I saw how big it was, that's when I knew. I hadn't even recognized my longing until that night when I walked into a small room and found a pantry that went on and on. That's right. A pantry. (What did you think I was talking about?)
You believe you are content with your own house until an out-of-state friend emails and asks if you'll take a look at a house they hope to buy. That's what happened to me the other night. The housing market here is hopping, so when my friend, RealEstateAgentFriend, alerted my friend, MarathonMom, that a house was available, MarathonMom (who lives across the country) asked me to check it out for her. RealEstateAgentFriend came and picked me up in her husband's pick-up truck and off we went.
Here is what $370,000 will buy you--a house built in 2002 with a giant living room, even bigger upstairs family room, formal dining room, eat-in kitchen with cozy gas-fireplace room/family room attached, two ovens, a built-in microwave, a enormous laundry room with attached pantry (that was when I fell in love--it's a long, narrow room with shelving all along one side), three bedrooms, three bathrooms, HUGE CLOSETS EVERYWHERE, a two-car garage, oh, and did I mention the PANTRY? Everything was shiny and clean and new and in contrast, I am living in a Goodwill store with poor hygiene and body odor.
MarathonMom (named for the marathons she insists on running even though she is now the mother of three and has a Ph.D., oh, and did I mention that she also has long, straight, naturally blond hair and is the sweetest person on the planet? I hate her, no, I love her! I can't help it!)--oh, where was I? MarathonMom and her husband (the doctor) won a bidding war and now own the house. They aren't moving in until July, so they've asked me to go by once a week and open the windows and check on it. She said I could have a party or roll around on the carpet or whatever I want.
She has no idea. I'm inlust love and there's no way I'm leaving the new object of my affections, even if I have to move into the pantry. Just call me Alice and give me an apron. I'm staying.
You wouldn't be so suprised if I detailed my current living situation, the drabness, how things have broken down without warning. When I was there the other night, I felt whole and new, like a rereleased song with enhanced digital remixing. And when the all-too-short moments passed, we went to Starbucks and drank hot drinks and shivered in the air-conditioning and talked about it. We talked about other things, too, and then I climbed back into the pick-up and back to my regular life in my worn house built in 1972 filled with shabby-not-chic furniture.
I'm in love (you might call it "lust," but I think this is the Real Thing) and I don't think it's too soon to admit it. When you fall in love, no amount of boring logic and reasonable thought matters. When I saw how big it was, that's when I knew. I hadn't even recognized my longing until that night when I walked into a small room and found a pantry that went on and on. That's right. A pantry. (What did you think I was talking about?)
You believe you are content with your own house until an out-of-state friend emails and asks if you'll take a look at a house they hope to buy. That's what happened to me the other night. The housing market here is hopping, so when my friend, RealEstateAgentFriend, alerted my friend, MarathonMom, that a house was available, MarathonMom (who lives across the country) asked me to check it out for her. RealEstateAgentFriend came and picked me up in her husband's pick-up truck and off we went.
Here is what $370,000 will buy you--a house built in 2002 with a giant living room, even bigger upstairs family room, formal dining room, eat-in kitchen with cozy gas-fireplace room/family room attached, two ovens, a built-in microwave, a enormous laundry room with attached pantry (that was when I fell in love--it's a long, narrow room with shelving all along one side), three bedrooms, three bathrooms, HUGE CLOSETS EVERYWHERE, a two-car garage, oh, and did I mention the PANTRY? Everything was shiny and clean and new and in contrast, I am living in a Goodwill store with poor hygiene and body odor.
MarathonMom (named for the marathons she insists on running even though she is now the mother of three and has a Ph.D., oh, and did I mention that she also has long, straight, naturally blond hair and is the sweetest person on the planet? I hate her, no, I love her! I can't help it!)--oh, where was I? MarathonMom and her husband (the doctor) won a bidding war and now own the house. They aren't moving in until July, so they've asked me to go by once a week and open the windows and check on it. She said I could have a party or roll around on the carpet or whatever I want.
She has no idea. I'm in
posted by Melodee at Friday, March 11, 2005
9 Comments:
ROFL!
The only thing I miss from my old house is the pantry. It was nice and big .. it held tons of food (seriously a months worth if not more!), my wax paper, foil, freezer bags, sandwich bags, my cake decorating things, some of my bigger stonewares, my seasonings ... oh so many things. I loved it. I really loved it. I feel your pain. I do!
A pantry? Huge closets? I'm drooling.
I had a very small pantry at the last house we lived at... but i loved it. I miss it. boo hoo hoo hoo.... I think I'm going to go eat a few cookies now.
Hey Mel...you know how teachers tell you when you write you should capture the reader and make them want to keep reading? You definately nailed that with this one. Thanks for the laugh.
Nicole
Boy, can I relate to this with having looked at 20 homes in the past 2 weeks.
The kitchen is what does it for me.....the master bath is what does it for my husband.
(looking back at that sentence and declaration and it sounds really weirdo...)
Umm, if you really like big pantries, I have a house for sale in SC that has a HUGE one. It's very reasonably priced...
You are such a great writer... you had me on the edge of my seat over a... pantry! [Hey, when exactly is that book of yours coming out?!]
:-)
Hi back at ya! Oh, yeah, from the sardine-can living room of my 1942 bungalow, I'm drooling over the 'other house' description. Now I've got to find a friend whose house to cheat with. (find the grammatical errors in THAT sentence!)
Mel, you need to come visit California and see how much $370,000 will buy you. It's all a matter of perspective, sigh.
I love the "shabby-not-chic" furniture.
Blessings,
Carmon, former native of the Pacific Northwest
Post a Comment
<< Home