We Pet The Puppy

About a month ago, Lovey had Columbus Day off. Because he has one of those fancy government jobs, yo!

He calls me all excited about a house he'd just found. "Oh, my gosh! You've got to see this thing! It's awesome! It backs up to the marsh! It has a 3-car garage. You've got to see this!"

Me: "What's the address?"

Lovey: "1701 Blah Blah Street". Whut. That's the real name, for sers.

Me: "Well....the good news is it's marked down $149K. The bad news is it's still $650,000.

Lovey: "Oh.....Well, it's an awesome house".

Naturally, when I got off we went back over to the neighborhood. Naturally. Even though we can't afford it. And what do you know? A door was unlocked. Serendipity, I tell you!

So we headed in. And we looked around. And I fell in love. I pet the puppy. Now, all I can think about is the Damn Puppy!

She's beautiful.....



Omigosh. Omigosh. Omigosh. I love her like she's my own.



Here's Lovey's favorite: a 3+ car garage. And plenty of room for my Green Room projects. And an office for me on the ground floor. Squee!

And here's K's Barbie Dream Kitchen:



Could you pleeaasse look at that island? Look at all that storage for all the cookbooks I don't use!

And! And!



Here's the back. Look at all those beautiful windows! And the screened porch! And the DOUBLE DECKS! What? I'm about to hyperventilate all over again. I wouldn't even bother to cover all of those glorious windows up. See, look what kind of money I just saved. Sigh....

Seriously....I have moved every stick of furniture and clothes into this house. As far as I'm concerned, my address is now 1701 Blah Blah. Can't help it. There is Not One Thing I would change about this house. It is perfection.

Then yesterday.....Lovey looked up the listing like we do nearly everyday. It's off the market. Status unknown. Hopefully that means the nice bank has purchased it and is keeping it off the market until I can sell enough plasma and/or scratch off enough lottery tickets to buy it. Alas, my eggs are too old to sell. Because unfortunately, even if you LOOK young, your parts still are old. Bastards.

The only good news is that being the resourceful little lady I am, I found the actual floorplan. And have been compulsively studying it. So if some good-for-nothing ho bag did indeed buy my house (hope her furniture is ugly!), I can build my own Barbie Dream House. Until then, here I sit heartbroken at 424 Stupid Little House Lane. Not bitter. No, not bitter. Not me.