I’m up early for a Sunday. Braddy, my orange fuzzy cat who bears a striking resemblance to Star Fox, was being a little asshole because he wanted to eat breakfast. So here I am, awake, sipping coffee and enjoying the sunshine coming in our huge living room window.
I remember walking into this apartment the first time. It was empty, and our future landlord walked us up the stairs, asking us questions the whole way.
“What do you do?” he asked me. “Where did you go to school? You look like an athlete. What sport do you play?”
And then the hilariously typical response after telling somebody new that I play hockey: “Oh man! Don’t body check me!” (Pro tip: it’s really not that funny.)
Anyway, Sean and I have been living here since March 1, 2012. And while I am desperate to leave, to have our own home, to mow our own lawn, to
cook watch Sean cook in a kitchen that holds more than one person at a time – I am going to miss this place. Our first place together. Our picture window. Our goddamn cranberry accent wall (there will not be a single bit of cranberry in our new home). The bar that’s practically in our backyard.
But we’re leaving. It’s not a 100% done deal yet, but it’s close. I was approved for the loan, the house we’re trying to buy appraised for the exact amount we’re trying to buy it for, and I have homeowners insurance effective August 14. That’s in less than two weeks, people. TWO WEEKS.
Crazy. With that, I will leave you with pictures of our new house. If it all falls through suddenly, I’ll delete this blog post and we’ll all pretend this never happened. Deal?