I'm in love...

Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be some shocking confession that will leave SJ confused about whether to remain true to me or tell her husband his best friend is being cheated on. In fact, the PH knows all about my new passion… and was there when it happened.
You see, I’m in love with a house. Not a house I live in, mind you. Nope, a house that belongs to someone I’ve never even met (although I can we'd get along because we have similar decorating styles).
Since we don’t relish the thought of living in a tiny cottage on someone else’s property forever, the PH and I decided that our first house is somewhere in the near future (“near” being relative– I’m talking about at least eight months from now). We thought we’d do some homework by attending open houses yesterday.
It’s a process in itself because it involved perusing the Sunday paper, circling the houses that were in the area/ actually open that day/ in our price range/ cute, going on-line to download directions to them, wearing nice clothes so we look like we’re not wasting the agents’ time and tramping through strangers’ homes (which is kind of fun because you get to see how people decorate). We hit up a couple of homes on our list and then went by a few advertised on roadside signs.
The ranch had a huge living room and yard, but the kitchen and bedrooms were tiny. The PH said it was his favorite, but I wasn’t as enamored. The bungalow had no yard except a strip of grass with a broken-down car (we didn’t even go inside). The cape was really nice from the outside, but sat sideways in the lot and had a tiny yard and neighbors squeezed in on both sides. The split-level had two huge yards, prompting us to consider putting up a volleyball net in the front yard for regular games, but had a weird layout and was totally overpriced.
But, in the middle of all this, we happened upon my dream house. A 66-year-old house with three bedrooms, a large kitchen, a semi-finished basement and a beautiful yard full of small gardens. It had character, like the arched doorway in the living room, the built in bookcase and hutch and the garden room in the basement that provides access to tools for the gardener. It was beautiful.
Of course, as you can probably tell from my pining, it is not to be. I don’t think the owner would be willing to accept the tiny down payment we’ve saved so far, nor would she probably want to keep living there until our lease is up next year. I knew when we left our house yesterday that we wouldn’t be coming back as homeowners, but it’s still tough to pass up that place.
I guess it’s good practice for when we are ready to make an offer. And it gives me something to judge other houses against. But boy, was it hard to return to our tiny place with an overgrown field for a yard after leaving that place!