a house, I wanted privacy.
The next house had four bedrooms, which I liked, and a poky kitchen with no storage room, which I didn’t.
The third house, a two-story in a rather run-down part of Lawrenceton, was most attractive. It needed some renovation, but I could pay for that. I loved the master bedroom, and I loved the breakfast area overlooking the backyard. But the house next door had been divided into apartments, and I didn’t like the thought of all the in-and-out traffic—there again, I’d had enough.
The fourth house was a possible. It was a smaller house in a very nice area of town, which meant it cost the same as a larger home elsewhere. But it was only ten years old, was in excellent shape, and had a beautifully landscaped, low-maintenance yard and lots of closets. Also a Jacuzzi in the master bath, which I eyed with interest. It was over my price limit, but not too drastically.
By the time we pulled up in front of the fifth house, Eileen and I had learned a lot about each other. Eileen was intelligent, conscientious, made a note to find out the answer to each and every small query I had, tried to stay out of my way as I considered each property, and was in general a really great realtor. She at least pretended to consider that not knowing exactly what you wanted was normal.
I was trying to overlook things that I could do something about if I were really interested in the house, and concentrate instead on things that would absolutely knock the house out of the running. These things could be pretty nebulous, though, and then I felt obliged to come up with a concrete reason to give Eileen.
The fifth house was the killer. There was nothing wrong with it. It was a three-bedroom with a pleasant yard, a small but adequate kitchen, and the usual number of closets. It was certainly big enough for one person. If toys were any evidence, it was not quite big enough for a couple with several children. It was very similar to its neighbors . .. the exterior was one of three or four standardly used in this subdivision. I was sure anyone on the street would have no trouble finding her way to any particular room or closet in any house.
“I hate this house,” I said.
Eileen tapped her fingernails absently on the imitation wooden-block Formica of the kitchen counter. “What is it you dislike so much, so I won’t waste our time showing you anything else with that feature?” A reasonable question.
“It’s too much like all the other houses on the street. And everyone else on this street seems to have little children. I wouldn’t feel a part of the neighborhood.”
Eileen was resigning herself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be the easiest sell she’d ever had.
“This is just the first day,” she said philosophically. “We’ll see more. And it’s not like you have a time limit.”
I nodded, and Eileen dropped me back at my place, thinking out loud the whole time about what she could line up to show me in the coming week. I listened with half my attention, the other half wrapped up in my date tonight. I was trying to keep my mental screen absolutely blank, trying not to imagine any scenes from the evening, trying not even to conjecture on its outcome.
Of course, I still had time to kill when I got home, and with the house clean and my clothes selected, nothing to kill it with. So I turned on the television, and when that failed, I tried to concentrate on an old Catherine Aird, counting on her never-failing blend of humor and detection to get me through a couple of hours. After ten minutes of concentrated effort, Aird worked, as she always did. I even forgot to look at my watch for minutes at a time.
Then I remembered I hadn’t done my exercise video that morning. Madeleine came to watch with her usual amazement, and I worked up quite a sweat and felt very virtuous.
Finally it really was time for a shower.
I hadn’t scrubbed myself this much since my senior prom. Every atom of my skin and inch of
The next house had four bedrooms, which I liked, and a poky kitchen with no storage room, which I didn’t.
The third house, a two-story in a rather run-down part of Lawrenceton, was most attractive. It needed some renovation, but I could pay for that. I loved the master bedroom, and I loved the breakfast area overlooking the backyard. But the house next door had been divided into apartments, and I didn’t like the thought of all the in-and-out traffic—there again, I’d had enough.
The fourth house was a possible. It was a smaller house in a very nice area of town, which meant it cost the same as a larger home elsewhere. But it was only ten years old, was in excellent shape, and had a beautifully landscaped, low-maintenance yard and lots of closets. Also a Jacuzzi in the master bath, which I eyed with interest. It was over my price limit, but not too drastically.
By the time we pulled up in front of the fifth house, Eileen and I had learned a lot about each other. Eileen was intelligent, conscientious, made a note to find out the answer to each and every small query I had, tried to stay out of my way as I considered each property, and was in general a really great realtor. She at least pretended to consider that not knowing exactly what you wanted was normal.
I was trying to overlook things that I could do something about if I were really interested in the house, and concentrate instead on things that would absolutely knock the house out of the running. These things could be pretty nebulous, though, and then I felt obliged to come up with a concrete reason to give Eileen.
The fifth house was the killer. There was nothing wrong with it. It was a three-bedroom with a pleasant yard, a small but adequate kitchen, and the usual number of closets. It was certainly big enough for one person. If toys were any evidence, it was not quite big enough for a couple with several children. It was very similar to its neighbors . .. the exterior was one of three or four standardly used in this subdivision. I was sure anyone on the street would have no trouble finding her way to any particular room or closet in any house.
“I hate this house,” I said.
Eileen tapped her fingernails absently on the imitation wooden-block Formica of the kitchen counter. “What is it you dislike so much, so I won’t waste our time showing you anything else with that feature?” A reasonable question.
“It’s too much like all the other houses on the street. And everyone else on this street seems to have little children. I wouldn’t feel a part of the neighborhood.”
Eileen was resigning herself to the fact that I wasn’t going to be the easiest sell she’d ever had.
“This is just the first day,” she said philosophically. “We’ll see more. And it’s not like you have a time limit.”
I nodded, and Eileen dropped me back at my place, thinking out loud the whole time about what she could line up to show me in the coming week. I listened with half my attention, the other half wrapped up in my date tonight. I was trying to keep my mental screen absolutely blank, trying not to imagine any scenes from the evening, trying not even to conjecture on its outcome.
Of course, I still had time to kill when I got home, and with the house clean and my clothes selected, nothing to kill it with. So I turned on the television, and when that failed, I tried to concentrate on an old Catherine Aird, counting on her never-failing blend of humor and detection to get me through a couple of hours. After ten minutes of concentrated effort, Aird worked, as she always did. I even forgot to look at my watch for minutes at a time.
Then I remembered I hadn’t done my exercise video that morning. Madeleine came to watch with her usual amazement, and I worked up quite a sweat and felt very virtuous.
Finally it really was time for a shower.
I hadn’t scrubbed myself this much since my senior prom. Every atom of my skin and inch of
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