Sun, 20 Mar 2011 22:21:26 -0700
I was dumped yesterday.
It all started out so well -- we met just under a week before I proposed (these things can move quickly), and he was everything I'd dreamed of: form and function; brains and brawn. We went out on another date Tuesday, and my initial impression was confirmed. I started envisioning our future together. Thursday night, I drafted how I'd pop the question. Spent all of Friday second-guessing my wording, the details of the proposal. Finally asked that evening, not expecting an answer on the spot, giving him time to think. Agonized later that night about if I'd said everything correctly, if I'd really conveyed why I knew we'd be such a good match. Saturday, he told me that there was someone else in the picture, and was that the best I could do? Sweetened the deal; waited again on tenterhooks -- and then, that evening, as Laurel and I sat kitty-corner across the street from him having tea at Samovar, he called to tell me he'd accepted the other proposal.
I'm heartbroken. And "he," of course, is a house.
The dating analogy was not lost on me when I first started looking at houses to buy, but there seemed to be one crucial difference: because they're not another person, the transaction is so much simpler. But that was before I fell in love with one, and bid on it -- and lost to some jackass who offered over 50% down and a 1-day inspection contingency. Unbeatable -- it's like I offered a nice ring and a honeymoon to Hawaii, and the other guy offered diamonds daily and never having to work again. But, oh, he was so pretty! I'd already started pricing baby grands to put in the living room's bay windows facing 18th Street -- the salons I'd hold...!
Rejections stings -- it feels like a slap in the face from the city itself, another relationship that's supposed to be unilateral. I'm having to remind myself that this doesn't mean I now have to leave San Francisco. I can still meet TQ at Tartine for morning buns and soy lattes; I can still have a glass of wine at Arlequin and then walk to choir. Right.
The house's rejection is counterbalanced by real boys, somewhat. In the last week, love interests not listed on redfin.com have bought me dinner, bought me flowers, offered to take me to France, cooked me dinner, plied me with wine or cocktails, driven me home, texted, emailed, and generally been very complimentary. It's all rather lovely. Now if only houses could start behaving in the same way.
What was it Jeannette Winterson said? You play, you win. You play, you lose. You play. There are more fish in the sea.