Barbie Dream House with a Front Porch

My friend was talking yesterday about her Barbie Dream House. She lives in it right now. I do not live in my Barbie Dream House. I don’t think I ever will.

For one, it really is not that important to me. For two, I am happy to have a roofed area to call my own. For three, what is there left to do if you can’t have a little lust and envy?

In our 15 years of marriage, we have owned three homes. Our first home was a 1970’s bungalow. I hated the house. George loved it. I looked at the cul de sac and the big, mature, leafy trees and knew it would be a good home. I caved, but mostly because I didn’t care all that much.

Our second home was bought when George changed jobs and it required a move across the country. The market was so hot, that any house for sale got multiple offers, complete with nasty bidding wars. Houses sold in hours. We hunted for weeks. The price tags were hefty and the properties were a mere shadow of our Canadian home.

The agent sent us an e-mail on Friday. We looked at the pictures of the house and it looked pretty good. We bid $10,000 over the asking price and we were homeowners on Sunday. House was bought sight unseen. God bless the internet bubble. Like I said, I am just not that picky of a person.

That house turned out to be just fine. It was another good old California bungalow–but in California this time. It was also very modern. I am a country girl–I had no idea how to decorate such a fancy kind of place. The layout was wonderful, but we quickly outgrew it.

Our last house is bigger, but it’s the same 1970’s Brady Bunch kind of place. There is nothing fancy or imposing. It is a friendly house where all the guests squeeze into our kitchen and don’t move during parties.

Once again, my husband, who must have this thing for the 70’s, loved the house at first sight. I shook my head and said no. Later, I woke up in the middle of the night and knew it was the place for us. We had been searching for a year, and I was too beaten down to search anymore.

I am still hopeful for a front porch and a porch swing. That is my fondest desire. A big, wrap around porch. I see them, so I know that they exist. There is even a house in town that makes me weak in the knees–it has a front porch so perfect and beautiful and awesome.

So, essentially, this is an open letter to my husband. Honey, if you really want to wow me. If you really want to make my romantic heart pitter patter–don’t buy me chocolates or champagne. Just send me a picture of a front porch and tell me someday, just maybe, there’s a chance we can stick my midwestern porch on the front of our Brady Bunch angular abode.


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