I asked my husband a question the other day, and by his expression, realized I’d stumbled onto another of those “Uh-oh, maybe I’m not normal” moments. You know those moments, when you’re telling someone a hope or a thought, and they look at you like you’re babbling in Ancient Hebrew.
Or is it just me?
I was telling John about my wishes to live, umm, somewhere else for a time. I’d like to live in a big city for awhile, or in a small town, right downtown, long enough to get to know all the characters there. I’d like to live on a houseboat or on a lake—for awhile. I quit naming places (yes, there are more) and asked if he’d ever thought about doing something like that. And that’s when I got the deer-in-the-headlights look. Oh, he’d love to live on the ocean, to walk the beach every morning, but since he lives in reality, he is content to live where we live, and not entertain fantasies about unlikely occurrences.
And then there’s me.
Since I was in over my head, anyway, I also said I wish I had a friend in real estate who wouldn’t mind showing me properties once in a while. Not to buy, but to use as locations in novels. I saw an amazing Victorian-looking home and checked it out online, but want to see it in person. I’d want to buy it if I didn’t have to give up my neighbors, and, oh yeah, if our money wasn’t all earmarked for things like insurance and my teeth. (Another crown this morning. My dentist looooves me but doesn’t want to marry me because then he’d have to provide free dental work.) Then there’s this terrible house-like dump in the middle of an industrial zone—you just gotta see the inside of something that sad. And my brain was coming up with all sorts of characters who might end up in such a desperate place.
What about you? Do you have these odd wishes? What are yours? And if you have a real estate license and love little adventures, call me. I’ll buy your lunch.
Or is it just me?
I was telling John about my wishes to live, umm, somewhere else for a time. I’d like to live in a big city for awhile, or in a small town, right downtown, long enough to get to know all the characters there. I’d like to live on a houseboat or on a lake—for awhile. I quit naming places (yes, there are more) and asked if he’d ever thought about doing something like that. And that’s when I got the deer-in-the-headlights look. Oh, he’d love to live on the ocean, to walk the beach every morning, but since he lives in reality, he is content to live where we live, and not entertain fantasies about unlikely occurrences.
And then there’s me.
Since I was in over my head, anyway, I also said I wish I had a friend in real estate who wouldn’t mind showing me properties once in a while. Not to buy, but to use as locations in novels. I saw an amazing Victorian-looking home and checked it out online, but want to see it in person. I’d want to buy it if I didn’t have to give up my neighbors, and, oh yeah, if our money wasn’t all earmarked for things like insurance and my teeth. (Another crown this morning. My dentist looooves me but doesn’t want to marry me because then he’d have to provide free dental work.) Then there’s this terrible house-like dump in the middle of an industrial zone—you just gotta see the inside of something that sad. And my brain was coming up with all sorts of characters who might end up in such a desperate place.
What about you? Do you have these odd wishes? What are yours? And if you have a real estate license and love little adventures, call me. I’ll buy your lunch.
