Well ... after a million trillion gazillion forevers (i.e., about 100 days) of short sale hell, the hubby and I finally--subject to inspections and all of that tra la la--have a house! A real, live, embodied in cement house!
After eons of dangling from ropes and calling for help, we jumped from the "short" sale and grabbed hold of the mast of this one (a.k.a. the bomb house), and, two days later, we're all signed and inked and already much poorer. But it's an awesome kind of poor.
I'll worry about all of that super important stuff--like buckling wooden floors and leaky windows and oodles of wallpaper and weirdo carpet in the dining room--when I feel like stepping off my cloud. But for now, there's a distracting melody in my head that goes a little something like this:
I've got a house. I've got a house. I've got a house. Hey, hey, hey, hey!
