For some reason we were house hunting for a new home. I think it was in another country, but there wasn't a language problem, so I can't be sure. John and I had found a home we could afford, (which apparently wasn't much) but that was the extent of his involvement. But after that he was mysteriously absent, (maybe he had to work) so it was up to me to decide if this was the right house for us.
Of course the house was a total dump. It was small, and ugly, and dark, and awkward, with weird hallways and stairs and rooms that seemed to be added "post construction".
It's good points seemed to be the price, the giant yard, and the fact that it was just down the street from the local elementary school.
Other bad points were the next door neighbors (Institution for the Mentally Insane) and the fact that when I asked about such things like the plumbing and termites, the realtor dodged my questions with gift certificates for free jam. One for each member of our family.
I'd like to believe we would have crossed that one off the list. The yard was pretty nice though. Or maybe the dream was meant to serve as a warning that we shouldn't move any time soon. They do keep trying to get us to move to Belgium.
