I'm in love with a house. A condo actually. But I think I'm crazy. This is a totally irrational kind of love, the kind that might turn out badly and break my heart.
You see, this condo is in the park. Really, really in the park. You can see the statue of Daniel Boone from the sun room (notice how I wrote SUN ROOM! and squealed a bit). Built in the 20s, it has character, charm and an elevator. That means I can "age in place" -- I'm listening to you B -- even though it's on the second floor.
It also has a hefty price tag. Which is why my heart will probably be broken. I need to think. I need to find the calculator that I already packed away in a box somewhere. I need to talk to people. People like friends. People like bankers. People like friends who are bankers.
I need to see it again. I need to turn on all the faucets at once and open all the windows to find something wrong with the place. I need to show up at dinner time to see if the neighbors cook Indian food every night or if noise carries across the marble tile (MARBLE TILE!) in the hallway.
But for today, I'm in love.