Love or something like it

House hunting reveals series of Mr. Wrongs

Thursday, April 17, 2014

We've been house hunting. I've grown to hate it.

It's a little bit like online dating but with no chance to run before you actually meet the house of your dreams -- or nightmares.

Just like LookinForLove-Dot-Com, it starts with the best possible photos -- like Doris Day in Technicolor soft focus -- and a glowing description.

"Hardwood floors throughout. Updated kitchen cabinets. Appliances convey. Quaint bathroom perfect for a growing family. Bustling neighborhood."

And then you meet your intended.

Hardwood floors throughout (last cleaned and waxed when the house was completed in 1961 and apparently used to raise an annual litter of claw-crazy cougars). Updated kitchen cabinets (crackle painted in red and black. Perfect for a Goth DIYer or a vampire). Appliances convey (because Good Will wouldn't come get them). Quaint bathroom great for a growing family (of hobbits. It's certainly too small for full-size humans). Bustling neighborhood (six cars in every driveway and a perpetual yard sale right next door).

It's devastating to fall in and out of love like the confused little people who kiss every time they circle around the cuckoo clock.

"My" house -- the one I lived in for most of my adult life -- was an arranged marriage. Husband 1.0 -- better known as Dan -- found it, fell in love with it and had pretty much proposed to it by the time I even saw it. But it was a 1902 Queen Anne bungalow. What's not to love?

Since then, I've been in a series of short-term housing relationships -- no chance at true love or permanence. And it seemed to my significant other -- the last one of those I ever intend to have -- that we might as well commit to a home.

But darned if he doesn't have his own opinions about what he wants!

The first house we looked at was on Beaver Lake, and we both loved it. Cute little cabin, perched on a hill, with a huge tree in the front yard and a little rock patio, a great front porch and a beautiful drive to it -- but not too far to it.

It was in the 26th year of a 25-year septic system.

Strike one.

The second house we both liked was tiny but so adorable. I was willing to overlook the itty-bitty closets and the interesting paint choices because it had a complete mother-in-law apartment (a "man cave" for the above-mentioned significant other). Too bad the giant dog -- sweet, but huge and smelly -- had lived in that apartment all winter. Too bad the owner was abandoning the house -- and all the junk in and around it. Too bad the inspection report was 43 pages long, and none of it was good.

Strike two.

Now we have come to an uncomfortable niche between a rock and a hard place. He has fallen in love with a house in Bella Vista -- and he's right. It is perfect. It has plenty of room and already has shelves everywhere, just waiting for all of my collections. It is surrounded by well-manicured flower beds and a Habitrail of walkways and decks. It has two outbuildings, one already outfitted as a shop (see "man cave" above). There is a walking trail at the bottom of the hill, a grocery store around the corner, and a Sonic less than a mile away.

The only down side is I work in Springdale.

I have fallen in love with a house in Springdale. It grabbed me immediately because it feels like Granny's house -- much the same floor plan and vintage -- and that means it feels like home. It has plenty of room, hardwood floors in the living room, new countertops -- and the world's ugliest kitchen cabinets. But hey, nobody's perfect. It also has a garage-turned-bonus room (man cave), an adorable front porch and an even cuter patio in back. Even the paint colors are acceptable. I'd move in tomorrow.

The only down side is he's not in love with it.

I wonder if there's counseling for this?

Becca Martin-Brown is an award-winning columnist and Features editor for NWA Media.

NAN Our Town on 04/17/2014