For Sale at Thanksgiving: We Could Make a Life Here

Yeah, man. This is the pad. I mean, the rent is right. Bill used to live in this house, but he's gone now, off adjuncting somewhere, but I'm still here and the Graduate Teaching Assistantship pays the bills, yanowhatimean. Well, my paycheck combined with Susan's, that is.

Yep, this is the place. I can't wait to move my stuff in to this room and start really creating. Look at this space! It's inspiring. Those little windows are awesome. One opens up into nothing--just a piece of board with some cloth hanging over it--and the other one opens into the kitchen. Like a pass-through.  Speaking of passing, can you pass that back to me? Thanks.

Check it: that's my hat. When I wear that hat and shuffle around this house with a whiskey and water in my hand, I get the sensation, you know? The spirit of the writer. Susan insisted on those bedside tables. They're nice, though.

Here's the kitchen. Susan's always saying the cabinets are too low and she can't see what she's doing when she's trying to make things on the countertop. Hey, nothing's perfect, right? And it's not like she's cooking anything complex; I mean, how closely do you have to examine a kale salad? You just throw the stuff in the bowl, really.

Hey, maybe you can settle this debate. Do you think that used to be a window, there, in between the other two windows? Susan says yes, but I think it was an artistic choice to design the wall that way. 

And yes, the piece de resistance: look at this yard. Can you imagine the parties we'll have out here? I have real visions for this piece of land. I'm going to fix up those little toolsheds and rake and get everything set up just perfectly. 

Final Verdict: Honey, remember grad school? It all came back a little too vividly when I looked at the pictures of this house. Let's mark it off the list.

For Sale at Thanksgiving: Let's Feast

Perch here with your loved one and enjoy the festivities of the season. Pinch your plastic cup between your knees as you balance an overloaded paper plate of... Oh, come on; let's stop pretending. You're alone. You don't even have a table. There's nobody perched in that chair next to you and you're eating a Lean Cuisine. It's that time of the year again. Gobble, gobble, blah.

But all hope is not lost. Put your TV dinner on the empty chair next to you, go into the kitchen and use the can opener to pry the lid from some discount kitty food. Slop it into the cat's bowl, and voila! Instant holiday companionship.

For Sale at Thanksgiving: Who's Bringing the Wine?

Yes, please. Have you ever seen such striking carpet? That color is called "Wine," I believe.  I enjoy guzzling wine, but I usually choose white because after I get sloppy and spill wine all over the rug, nobody notices. This would allow me to drink Merlot and slosh it all over the place if I wanted to. I like that idea. Combine that carpet with the filigree iron curlicues and I'm in love. But only if the sunburst clock conveys.

Oh, there's more? Now, some of this doesn't work for me. When I get sloppy on Merlot, I don't know if I want to try to monkey with all these light fixtures. Just give me one choice and BAM on comes the light. Here I've got a pole lamp with little lanterns (3 switches, I presume, from which to choose), a table lamp, an overhead fan with three light bulbs but two pull-cords and you just know I'm going to pull the wrong one and have to get all flustered by that when the fan starts turning. Then there's the entryway light. 

And then, once I get all the lights on, I'll see myself reflected about ten-thousand times in all those mirrors. But only from the chin down. Then someone'll come swinging in through those saloon doors and I'm just going to be overcome by the absurdity of it all and spill wine all over the rug while I bust out laughing. 

Final Verdict: This place would really bring out the alcoholic in me, Honey. I don't know if that's what we really want in this stage of our marriage. Let's mark it off the list.