And so it begins.
No, this isn't the house that the Realtor took me to. Far from it, alas. Learned that people who write descriptions of houses not only are grammatically impaired, they also have problems with reality in general. The house wasn't terrible, but it wasn't all they said it was, either. Why do sellers do that? It's like a guy in a personal ad describing himself as another Tom Cruise, when he really resembles Tom Arnold. I want to fall in love, feel a rush of heady infatuation that would make me throw caution to the winds and sign on the dotted line, not feel let down.
I'm not in love with the realtor, but I liked her well enough. She seemed like a nice person. (And resembled neither of the Toms, Cruise nor Arnold.) Pointed out some of the flaws in the house as well as some of the good aspects. At least I've broken the ice: I have now gone and publicly viewed my first house. I've declared to the universe that I'm seriously putting myself on the market for a new home, and it better take me seriously and deliver the goods.
I'm a bit bummed about getting my hopes up about this house. Maybe it would have looked better in the evening, or after a few drinks. Heck, something like that might even make Tom Arnold look more attractive. (At least, he's been married and I think more than once.)
I think the thing to do is go for a quick walk around the park in my fancy new shoes. I am a calm, confident woman who exercises daily, eats those damn green leafy things, and is firmly in charge of her own destiny. Or at least, that's my story.