Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Treasures of the Past
In all the glitz and glamour of my real estate purchase, I forgot to share a few delightful nuggets.
First, I met the world's most ridiculous realtor. She showed us an interesting crackhouse in Lakeview without ever putting down her breakfast burrito. Her boyfriend followed us around mutely the whole time we were looking at the place, to the point that I seriously feared he might follow us home. And she had the most splendidly hopeful explanations for things. She termed the zig-zag-shaped second bedroom "distinctive." She solved the unit's complete lack of storage space by suggesting we put a cabinet in the building stairway. And she ushered us out onto the postage-stamp back porch in subzero weather to show us a "beautiful view" of the parking lot and alley that was "definitely worth braving the cold."
I want her to bear my children.
Then, another realtor called us after the showing to accuse us of stealing prescription drugs from the condo. Yes, in the ten minutes we looked at the Malaysian-sweatshop-posing-as-loft, we were alleged to have somehow pocketed painkillers hidden in the depths of the owner's sock drawer. But as much bad-decorating-induced pain as I was in, I don't think a trip through a middle-aged couples' long johns would have solved any of my problems.
Oh, and several places had strange tiny cubbies in them, which I can only think are designed for the storage of the sentient serving robots our society is sure to develop. Because Small Wonder doesn't need a bedroom to call her own.
In all the glitz and glamour of my real estate purchase, I forgot to share a few delightful nuggets.
First, I met the world's most ridiculous realtor. She showed us an interesting crackhouse in Lakeview without ever putting down her breakfast burrito. Her boyfriend followed us around mutely the whole time we were looking at the place, to the point that I seriously feared he might follow us home. And she had the most splendidly hopeful explanations for things. She termed the zig-zag-shaped second bedroom "distinctive." She solved the unit's complete lack of storage space by suggesting we put a cabinet in the building stairway. And she ushered us out onto the postage-stamp back porch in subzero weather to show us a "beautiful view" of the parking lot and alley that was "definitely worth braving the cold."
I want her to bear my children.
Then, another realtor called us after the showing to accuse us of stealing prescription drugs from the condo. Yes, in the ten minutes we looked at the Malaysian-sweatshop-posing-as-loft, we were alleged to have somehow pocketed painkillers hidden in the depths of the owner's sock drawer. But as much bad-decorating-induced pain as I was in, I don't think a trip through a middle-aged couples' long johns would have solved any of my problems.
Oh, and several places had strange tiny cubbies in them, which I can only think are designed for the storage of the sentient serving robots our society is sure to develop. Because Small Wonder doesn't need a bedroom to call her own.
