The Astroturf Is Always Greener

We officially kicked off the Great House Quest of 2008 this weekend. Is there anything more thrilling than legally snooping around in other people's homes?

I thought it would be nothing short of hilarious if I asked the realtor to swing by an ATM before we got started so I could take out some cash. You know, for the house?

But I was able to restrain myself, if only because I want to be viewed as a matoor and responsible adult who can take a mortgage and the accompanying responsibility seriously.

But how funny would that have been? How funny, I ask you?

We didn't see anything that struck us as being "The One." In fact, I was a tad disillusioned with the kind of house we could buy for the amount we are willing to spend, even in this "buyer's" market.

Then on Sunday, I attended a wedding shower inside of a what looked to be a castle and, well, it put a bit of a damper on the whole house hunting business, if you know what I mean.

This house was like the Hope Diamond of new home construction for the twenty-first century, my peeps. I felt imposterish just standing inside, like I might be asked to don a loaner dinner jacket at any moment.

I am talking about a home theater, complete with rows of leather chairs! I'm talking about a study with a view to the fully stocked wine cellar via a window built into the floor! I'm talking about a spiral staircase and a master bathroom larger than my entire house!

And I wanted it. Oh, I wanted it baaaaaaaaaaaaad.

What made me want it even more was the knowledge that its owner was someone who I grew up with and in whose parents' bungalow basement I attended countless birthday parties. Where I was perfectly content to eat hot dogs, drink Kool-Aid, and play Twister.

We both came from the same humble roots, yet one of us lives in a castle and the other one, a hut.

(Why must I be the one with the hut?)

I was covetous, but I also felt not good enough inside of this house. Self-conscious about my outfit, my unmanicured hands, and my springy gray flyaway hairs. Too short, too pudgy, blah, blah, blah.

Does being surrounded by beauty elicit a desire to be beautiful, too? It felt that way to me yesterday afternoon.

(But if that's the case, then why don't I feel like Frumpy McFrumpypants in front of, say, a blazing sunset?)

As much as I coveted the house (and would by no means turn it down if it was offered to me), I realize that I might very well feel spectacularly ill at ease in such an environment.

I'm sure I would quickly tire of working out in my own personal gym, where the face towels are rolled up like little burritos just waiting to drink up my golden sweat. (right?)

I would be wracked with guilt at my undeserved bounty, unable to enjoy or reach any of the top cupboards in my chef's kitchen. (right?)

I would lie awake at night, wondering what kind of disaster was about to befall me, because surely such largesse cannot be had without a price? (A few million dollarz, is what I'm guessing.)

Or, who am I kidding, I might feel right at home.

Ah, but money doesn't buy happiness, right?

Right?

Still, after living in the cramped quarters we've lovingly called home for the past seven years, I'm thinking that an attached garage, an eat-in kitchen (oh, the decadence!), four bedrooms and a glamour bath could buy mine.

(Ish.)