Running to stand still

“Was the realtor here then?” I enquired on detecting the ‘For Sale’ sign in front of the house. I never get to say realtor with a straight face, or in a context appropriate situation, so I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Or pretend to be a grown-up like my fella and utter the words ‘estate agent’ with disturbing maturity. Until now, I’ve managed to navigate life without slipping into the void between immaturity and death otherwise known as mortgage. But having failed to read the small print on the marriage vows, it transpires that what’s his is mine; and what’s ours is now being dealt with by a pre-pubescent with enough positivity to make your average children’s TV presenter sound like Christopher Lee.

Ever since I was persuaded to ink half the deal on a new house, I’ve been experiencing strange new ailments that demand a second opinion from Google. It turns out that worry over “how far back does a credit check go?” and “random but intense curtain envy” are symptoms consistent with stage III conformity. It’s probably terminal and will likely culminate in a B & Q loyalty card. Sadly, many of my friends and family have succumbed to its vicious clutches. I’ve seen the devastating effects of decking.

for sale

One second-hand soul. Only one owner.

In exchange for a reasonable sized mortgage ONO

Having spent the last six years delivering a regular screed on the hazards of living where we do (mental rigor mortis, hardened vowels, phantom bell’s palsy), and jointly hatching escape routes from same, it has become something of a hysterical laugh that we’re condemned to settle a mile out the road. Forever. As cosmic jokes go, it’s one of the best. The more florid the alternatives became (Toronto! Leitrim! Mongolia! ) the more inevitable the end result. On the plus side, we can never go on holiday again so all complaining is not lost.

Determination – reality + wishful thinking x one party’s chronic immaturity. You do the math s.

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5 thoughts on “Running to stand still

  1. At least you’re being a Proper Grown Up and doing that mortgage thing. We’re still renting – because somebody thought she’d probably be gone by now :-/

    • She..as in..the landlady? You? Your Great Aunt Morag? This has the potential to be as intriguing as one of your flash fictions. For all of Onob’s nobbiness, a few decent tunes lurk in the back catalogue. But I’m just admitting that to you. It’s not like I’m lashing it up on the internet for three people to see.

      • Some people have accused me of listening to The Joshua Tree and liking it. This is one I used to sing along to. And yes, me! it helps with the denial process to talk about myself in the third person :-/

      • It offers a certain sanctuary, does the third person. You can always boast that you’re mortgage-free. It’s up there after giving birth without pain relief, breastfeeding for 33 years straight, and getting your kids into the most elite school. Frankly, I’m quite disgusted with myself that I got to here unscathed by one only to have one saddled on me on the final furlong. Where will it end? *back of hand to forehead in manner of Scarlet O’Hara*

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