THE BATHROOM IS BIGGER THAN THE BLUE BANANA.
I can't believe this is happening. Sometimes I wish I had better timing. We're disappearing from the face of the planet in days which is toootally convenient for things like, you know, contracts. Perfect.
But who cares.
I met a house. That's the point. And he has lazy little sailboats. And a master bedroom larger than Montana. And those art deco doorknobs that make me sob from happiness. And lots of big hardy light. And built in window seats. And old wood floors. And brick. And big, powerful doors. And it's at the end of a street that's so dreamy that I could actually imagine myself staying there. For more than a year or two. Or forever.
I'm not excited. They probably won't take our offer. Or someone will buy it out from under us. Or the fax machine in Barcelona will throw up our paperwork. Or we'll find out that the house has rabies. Or is infested with rats. Rats that have rabies will buy the house out from under us. Because the fax machine in Barcelona will be broken.
But. Still. Eek.
We might be moving.