So y'all. House hunting.
We were so cute with the we-are-just-looking-the-market-up-north-isn't-so-hot-that-we-have-to-rush-into-anything talk.
So our realtor took us out. Just to look.
And we found it. The House. The house that I want. That we want. That we LOVE AND MUST HAVE OR WE WILL JUST DIE AND DIE.
This place is just a hair bigger than my house now. Our bedroom is double the size of the master in that place. It doesn't have a big giant closets. The living room is the same size I think, with a tiny dining room attached. A dining room that you will have to be careful about table size in or you will not be able to get up the stairs.
But it has a claw foot bathtub. And original moldings. A brand new kitchen. Gorgeous slate. A front porch. And we fell in love.
I know this is not a good idea.
We made an offer. An offer that will be rejected or accepted tomorrow morning.
Of course we haven't sold our place yet. Or even put it on the market and we cannot afford the house without selling this one.
But somehow I do not care. That house felt like home. I will survive if the deal falls through. I mean these things happen and other houses will come along.
I am just hoping that another place won't have to.