Emmie Hates Her House

I hate my house.

Okay, let me rephrase that. I appreciate having shelter and all of the accoutrements that come with modern shelter. Therefore, I merely feel ambivalent toward my house.

In Washington, people think Home Depot is top-of-the-line, so even though this house was totally remodeled just a few years ago, we have breakage drama after breakage drama.

When you walk through the front door, you are in the kitchen. Where is the sense in that? I don't need the Jehovah Witnesses smugly noting that although it is 11 AM, I still have not washed the waffle iron from breakfast.

The carpet is light colored and stains if you breath on it. I have lived with light colored carpet before and never have I had trouble keeping it pristine. Until now.

There are teapots stencils all over the kitchen. TEAPOTS. With pink flowers on them. Speechless. The landlady was so proud. If I owned this house, those would have been gone the day we moved in, even if I had to do it myself a magic marker.

There is a large and shabby pool table that takes up half of our family room. The owners couldn't move it. My husband told them it was fine. We don't play pool, and I can think of eight thousand better things to do with that space.

Supposedly we are going to buy a house of our own. Note "supposedly". DH says he is on board with this plan, but he has spent three months ignoring mortgage papers that require only his signature. I thought maybe he just didn't like the particular house I wanted to buy, so we toured a few others. We found one he LOVED. Okay, so let's make an offer. At this point I'll live almost anywhere with a consistently working hot water heater and no tea pots. He smirked and said it can wait. That was about two months ago.

I'm not sure what's going on, but I think I'd better make my peace with this house.