Confession – I’m a stalker. Like “drive-past-your-location-over-and-over, looking-for-pics-of-you-on-the-internet, going-to-reach-out-and-touch-you-late-at-night-when-you-don’t-know-I-am-there” kind of stalker.
My prey? Houses I have no intention of buying.
The Hub and I (um, mostly The Hub, but he is right, so I am letting cooler heads prevail) made the decision last month that we are sticking to our original plan to stay in The Tree House at least one more year.
I know this.
I do not accept this.
But it’s like Daniel Craig with his shirt off or something – when I see a great house for sale, I just can’t help but look.
My latest target of obsession is an adorable 3bd 2 bath converted farm house that obviously had the neighborhood spring up around it, in a ‘hood I adore, with so much charm and so many updates I feel a sting in my eye just thinking of it.
Here is the best part about being a house stalker. I don’t actually have to see the inside of the house, beyond the awesome pics posted to highlight its fabulousity. I can gawk at the outside from the street where I sit in my car worrying the neighbors admiring its perfection. I can daydream about what it must be like to live there without worrying about tiny closets or wonky plumbing or WTF that cold draft in the living room is.
Whatever the current property, it is, was, and always will be the perfect house to me – because reality never has to set in. (Sort of like the creepy fan who sits at home writing letters to Megan Fox about what color hair their perfect children will have… but maybe slightly less creepy. Maybe.)
All of these “dream houses” with their total perfection will certainly make actually house hunting (whenever we do) a tough road for The Hub.