We internally kicked ourselves today (we're very flexible). A few weeks ago, I reported that we'd seen the perfect house in Somerville. We'd procrastinated over visiting it because we love Back Bay's elegance and convenience (but not its big prices, tiny outdoor spaces, and noisy-neighbor situations). We're trying to keep an open mind about other neighborhoods that have their own benefits (like whole Victorian houses for the price of a basement or 4th-floor walk-up in our neighborhood).
I guess we're not so great at keeping an open mind. By the time we made it to an open house, the pretty coral-and-gray Victorian was under agreement. An offer had been accepted just a couple of hours earlier. So the house is gone, but we're thinking and talking about it too much. We've sunk to hoping it has termites so the buyers will change their minds.
We're sick of house-hunting. We can't wait to move, and this house felt just right. If you've ever found and bought a house or flat you really loved, you know that feeling. It's rare, and it's instantaneous. And it's definitive. You know. That's what this house felt like. It was love at first sight for both of us. It wasn't perfect, but it wouldn't take very much to make it work for us.
The kitchen was admittedly beastly. Every part of the cabinets and woodwork has high-contrast, alternating pieces of yellowy and orange woods. Awful. The granite counters are peach and brownish, with huge, wild patterns swirling across them. The combined effect is so raucous it made me woozy. It would probably induce migraines or fits in someone in poor health or with better eyesight. A coat of glossy white paint or replacing the cabinet doors and drawer fronts to match the frames would fix most of that issue. The bathrooms needed help, too. But who cares? Its layout was ideal and unusual, and it was full of natural original woodwork and graceful details. There were two porches and a lovely garden. Oh, we adored it. I email the brokers every week or so. They ignore me.
I need to forget about that house. I'm obsessing, wasting time, and making myself sad.
So, on top of all that, how can it get any worse, you ask?
We drove past it tonight on our way to visit friends. The "For Sale" sign is still out front; the little wooden top piece hasn't been changed to "Under Contract." (Naturally I used that excuse to write to the brokers again.) But this time, we followed the street all the way to the other end. It intersects with Broadway. And right at the corner is... Lyndell's Bakery. Yes, that's right: NIRVANA. I would have been living down the street from my favorite bakery. On a bike, it's a very quick trip. And next-door to the house, there's a great bike shop...
Just shoot me.