Having recently celebrated my 40th birthday (ugh! did I really just ADMIT that?) I find my family and I facing our newest adventure. This adventure is commonly known as relocation. Again. We were afforded the opportunity to come back home to the Northwest and frankly, didn't hesitate to grasp that opportunity with the jaws of life in order to get out of California and move back to the land of green. Thank you Lord, we're home!
Part of the adventure of relocating to another state is of course finding a place to call your own. We were terrifically blessed to have friends that allowed us to stay with them temporarily while we attempted to located said home. Over the course of 6 weeks we quickly learned that "beautiful family home, lots of updates" translates to "it's got four walls and was painted some time in the late 60's". We watched our options diminish like the stock market and started to get a bit desperate.
We viewed a fantastic tri-level townhouse in a neighborhood the likes of which belonged not in our beloved Vancouver but rather Portland's inner city. We saw a bizarre townhouse in a terrific neighborhood where the only bathroom in the joint was on the third floor. Then, by luck or the hand of the Almighty himself (queue the triumphant angel music) we saw a great little house in a great little neighborhood, full of well, great people! Could it be? Had we finally attained the Holy Grail? The mother of all rental houses in the greater Vancouver area? A three bedroom, one and a half bath, little bit of personal solitude and spacious comfort? Oh yes! Sweet success! Except...
The master bedroom is spacious and includes a large vanity complete with sink and cabinet, a huge bay window with window seat, and a large walk in closet. With a cable outlet. In the closet. While I pondered that, hubby says, "Babe! Check out the closet!" "I am," I say. He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me out of the closet and says, "Noooo.... LOOK at the closet!" And there, glaring at me in all of it's brass-like boldness, hangs a chain lock. Attached to the OUTSIDE of the closet door and molding. I'm sort of ashamed to admit, that it actually took me a moment to get it. "Holy crap!" I say. "What in the world... why would they... and the cable outlet in there too... OH NOOOOO..." I stammered. Hubby had this bemused look on his face, and while shaking his head muttered something like "wow...", then went and checked out the bathroom.
We did wind up taking the house by the way and have decided that really if it comes down to it, we can use the lock on the closet door as a great conversation starter during one of the many dinner parties to come.
Today's witty quip: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But when in doubt, trick them into checking out your walk in closet.
