Generally speaking, I’ve got it pretty good. When life flings annoying little scraps of crap at me, I can always say: well, at least I have a roof over my head.
Oddly, in a few weeks, we won’t.
A little back story. When we first started looking for a place to live here in Atlanta, we saw this house. Its list price was out of our range, but it had been on the market for eons, so we went to look anyway.
“Holy crap,” I remember saying upon taking in the gorgeous kitchen, gorgeous sunny living room, gorgeous…well, everything. “I can’t even imagine living in a place like this.”
A couple of months and one lowball offer later, we were under contract. It seemed too good to be true.
Holy crap indeed.
Last Friday, we met the home inspectors at the house. THE house. It wasn’t OUR house yet; there was still a lot that could go wrong. But in spite of my best efforts to remain unattached, I found myself envisioning furniture placement and such. The couch here, facing the window! Bar stools there, over by the built-in wine fridge! That painting we love up there, on that wall!
But as we tagged along after the inspector, those visions of buttery leather sofas and funky bar stools gave way to thoughts of buckets and towels.
“Systematic water issues,” the inspector said in to his voice recorder.
“Holy crap,” my husband and I said to one another.
Actually, it wasn’t totally surprising. On previous visits to the house, we’d seen some evidence of drainage issues, and going in to the inspection we knew there was a possibility that the structure needed an entirely new roof – which given the home’s unique style/shape, would be a little more complicated and expensive than just slapping on some new shingles.
But the inspector’s report basically confirmed our worst-case scenario.
So we spent the entire weekend going back and forth. Should we walk away, or move forward? We discussed and discussed…over glasses of wine, while buttering waffles, from either side of the sink while brushing our teeth. The entire weekend was basically one big circle of discussion, leading up to Sunday night, which was the deadline for backing out of our contract.
Our contract, on OUR house.
We are moving forward.
We, who are the type of people who will deal with a dark hallway for weeks because neither one of us is motivated enough to change a lightbulb. We are going to put a new roof on a house.
(Well, we aren’t going to actually do it, of course, but we’re going to oversee its construction. Still a stretch for us.)
Of course, the deal could still sink at this point. The bank’s appraisers still have to go in and do their thing. But we’re one step closer to having a permanent roof over our heads.
And then immediately ripping it off.
Exciting and scary.