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I had resigned myself to the fact that I would die in this house. I really had. Unlike Bridget Jones, I hadn’t resigned myself to the inevitable eating by wild dogs. And after Friday’s painting mishap, I was trying to resign myself to the fact that my house will never be de-cluttered, and the walls (and doors and window sills) will forever be scratched, dinged and grubby. And then the real estate agent called – she wanted to show us a lovely house, close to the hospital, schools and transit system, for a very reasonable price.

The house was still semi-detached, but it had so much space! 3 bedrooms, 2 living rooms, finished basement. The yard was small, but no grass to mow – only a deck and a large perennial garden…a garden without weeds! I could live with the yellow “post-modern shag” carpeting (Hubby’s term) and the tudor-style beams and brick fireplace in the upstairs living room. Dare I dream about a craft room, a spare bedroom, or a music room?  The home owner was there, so I didn’t too dream long…but for a magical moment there, I knew bliss. The only way it could be sweeter was if I was sharing that magical moment with Henry (O Henry!)

Then we headed round the corner to see another house – with fewer rooms and a higher price tag. When we got to the door, we found out the home owner’s agent hadn’t told her we were coming. She wasn’t going to let us in (which is understandable), but then she asked us to wait while she called her agent. Did I mention it was raining? She took pity on us when she saw Little Guy was with us, so we sheepishly stood on her front carpet, trying not to drip or listen in to her half of an irate phone call. I would have been irate too if someone showed up at my door unannounced, and I was lounging around in my pink and green striped p.j. pants!

Eventually she threw on a rain coat and told us to come in and to excuse the mess. We obviously have a very different definition of mess…if her place is a mess, then mine should be condemned…while she continued to threaten to “rip someone’s face off” (I kid you not – those were her words!) In a nutshell – it was both awkward and uncomfortable (i.e., kind of like when you’re trying to discreetly exit a room to find a loo because you’ve just sneezed and you’re not sure if you “sharted” a little bit…yeah, paints a picture, doesn’t it?)

The house was lovely but certainly smaller than the first, and lacking a finished basement (though well on the way) and that second living room of possibilities (maybe I could make it into a dance studio and learn to hip-hop? Maybe not!).

It stopped raining the moment we drove away, but there were no rainbows in the rapidly graying sky, no pillars of light illuminating the structure that was to be our next abode. We arrived home just before dark, tired and damp…with chores to do. While Hubby dragged the garbage and recycling to the curb and I cleaned the guinea pigs in the dungeon, Little Guy went to sleep dreaming of a room painted blue with trains on the walls. I say, keep dreaming Little Man, and maybe someday, when you’ve moved away from home into your own place, you can have that blue room with trains on the walls or mirrors on the ceiling. I will be quietly dying in this old house.

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