So This Was Weird

The Boy's friend A's mom, J, who I am friendly with but never actually thought of as a friend, if you know what I mean, called me Saturday morning. I was assuming A wanted to invite The Boy to do something, but it turned out that J wanted me to GO WITH HER TO LOOK AT A HOUSE, in a ritzy suburb.

J & R (A’s dad, and a complete asshole to the extent that I truly can’t stand to be around him and will avoid him at all costs) were considering buying this house, which is a foreclosure. It was listed for $X million, but R had it under agreement for $X hundred thousand. J wasn't sure about it, though, and wanted MY opinion.

So I went (despite my bemusement at being asked to go—which turned into a sort of pity for J, because I started to assume that she must not have many friends, if she were calling on me to serve in this capacity). I’m not sure why, but I was more honest (and bitchy) with her than I've been about anything I felt negatively about in a very long time. This is a five-bedroom McMansion with eight bathrooms, a four-car garage, and an indoor pool in a housing development filled with expensive cars. THEY ARE A FAMILY OF THREE.

I bitched about the house’s carbon footprint (believe it or not, J has an erstwhile-hippie aspect about her to which I was trying to appeal), the amount of gas/power it would cost to heat the gigantic house and pool all winter (“Do you really want to pay all that money to keep the pool open all winter, when you know you’d only use it, like, twice?”), and to keep it cool in the summer. I bitched about the shoddy building and materials, pointing out that the doors were hollow, doorknobs were loose, particle board was rampant, the “multi-paned” windows were actually just normal windows with plastic dividers that were popping out everywhere, cupboards were crooked, "oak" paneling was actually crappy veneer, the decking was a mess of poisonous splinters, and in one classic moment, was able to show her that even though a window in the master bath was closed and locked, there was a gap that allowed a clear view to the outside.

She complained about how R wasn't taking care of things in the house they live in now (a great old house with brick, stone, plaster, wood, and a terra cotta roof), and I said, "J, do you really think he's going to be any better here? He'll just say, ‘I gave you this beautiful house, and you're complaining about it!’" (See? I was even bitchy about their relationship! I NEVER DO THAT!)

She remarked on how safe the neighborhood seemed, and that she'd be able to let A go out on his own. I said, "Where's he going to go? There's nothing here in walking distance, and besides, there are NO SIDEWALKS."

I told her it was lovely to look at, and that it would make for great pictures, but that it was only a shallow beauty.

In short, I was a total bitch about the place. I kept apologizing, and telling her how I felt terrible saying such mean things, and that it was really pretty but just felt BAD . . . and she kept saying, "No, you're right—you're telling me what I need to hear."

She called me later that night and told me they'd faxed a letter saying they didn't want the house, and thanking me again for being so honest.

The whole thing is just SO WEIRD. WHY ME?!?!?!?

I have to say, though, that now that it’s over, I’m pleased with myself for being so forthright about my feelings. Normally I would have held her (emotional) hand and looked for positive things to say, because I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her feelings, but I didn’t do that. I was honest about my bitchy feelings, and I didn’t suffer any terrible consequences because of it. Maybe I am growing up. Maybe I’m finally on my way to being more true to myself, which might help me in the self-esteem department. Which might help me in the panic/anxiety department.

Maybe. I hope.