Tomorrow, my dreams will be dashed. Well, not exactly. See, tomorrow, I am closing on my house. That’s right, Ruby’s buying a home.
It’s the house I have been renting for two years or so. Is it my Barbie Dream Home? Not exactly, but it’s close, and I’m getting it for a steal. So it’s no longer the practice dream home — now it’s reality, like it or not.
And I do like it, really. It’s an early 1970s model — and I’ve always loved the houses of the late 1960s-mid 1970s — with a big enough kitchen, big enough dining room, big enough living room, bathroom that has to be seen to be believed in all its blue-1970s glory, large master bedroom, huge master closet, tiny second bedroom. And that’s just upstairs. Downstairs there’s another huge bedroom that I am using as a den, lots of little closets, a “family room” that currently houses my family, that being two stupid cats, utility room and a bathroom that looks like a bomb shelter but is perfectly serviceable.
It has potential. And I’ll make it into a dream house.
