My partner-husband (still having trouble embracing the husband deal) twice scored big in the real estate gentrification game.
Our first was with a co-op in Washington Heights that wasn’t even fit (well ok it was fit for) heroin addicts and sidewalk Sallys who had an addiction to support. I can’t say exactly how but I became numb to it. Well except I had to grab a baggie of hooch out of my dog’s mouth. She was fine, a little docile but she lived.
After eight non-stop years of renovations, we were so happy to finally sit in our living room and watch a movie without having to dust off first. I think one week later, a realtor asked if we were interesting in selling. We hadn’t even settled into all the work we did, but he asked to show it to three serious clients. So we went along with it, mainly to validate that we made good choices with the decorum.
Well we apparently did. Three viewers. Three offers over the asking price. In three minutes. Bidding wars.
One year later we bought into the largely touted NEXT TOWN ON THE RISE an it was Bloomfield. We’ve been here about seven years and oh it’s happening. The value of our home has tripled since we bought it, which means so have our property taxes. It’s attracting all the right people from the city plus some that have been living for years. We truly enjoy each other’s company. We’ve made a collective effort for our area to be friendly, protective without intrusion and dropping a few laughs and downing a few cocktails.
So wouldn’t you know it. My partner may soon be entertaining a transfer to Houston, Texas. Yee haa.
I don’t know if I’ve got it in me. I mean they’re all cordial there and share niceties. I don’t know where to start with that. Here’s a casserole? Well aren’t you just something else.
Well I am. You’re right. But let’s have a courtship before officially scheduling dinner dates. I’m not really into pulled pork and it starts with the name. It’s a red state. Glaringly red. I’ll have to duct tape my mouth just not to get shot, cuz they love their firearms too. Oh god, if it ain’t from drugs to firearms.
Well it’ll likely only be a few years. Then we can move to our final stop on the train. We have not a clue where that is, but it’s definitely not in the Lone Star State.
Oh god. I hope not.