But no, the real estate agent misled me. When I asked him at the front door about price expectations he quoted a figure that I might just have been able to afford (even after I factored in the 10%+ you invariably add on top).
I spent the morning and early afternoon in a giddy haze of excitement, imagining myself settling into my new home.
Then the contract came through on email, with a message informing me that the house was expected to sell for $200,000 more than he’d suggested at 11am that morning.
I suppose I should have guessed from how schmick the kitchen looked …
But I had my fingers crossed that it being a semi with no carport/garage and situated across the road from a pub might keep the price down.
There goes the 70s cocktail party I’d been planning for the housewarming.
Well, for the moment. I’m still rather keen on having one if I ever find a house in my teensy price range.
I’ve already got the dress, purchased from a second-hand rack at Bondi Markets many moons ago …
I’m thinking I’ll play lots of Bee Gees and The Jacksons and Boney M.
And I’ll serve vol au vents and mini quiches and french onion dip and these bizarre hedgehoggy things …
And I’ll ask my lovely hairdresser to do my hair like this …
I can’t believe I’m already contemplating another party, after barely surviving the hell of cleaning up after the last one, but geez it’s bulk fun to dance around with friends to loud music.
Any excuse, I’m taking it.
Song of the day: Bee Gees “Stayin Alive”
oh, and a bit of Travolta magic …
“You should be dancing”