They need to shut the fcuk up. Whomever “they” are, those people who tell you, “You’ll know it when you find it.” I can tell you this much: I sure as shit didn’t feel that way about love. It took me 20 dates before I even considered myself dating my now-husband. I didn’t “know it.” At all. Now, people sell me this same business when it comes to finding a home to buy. “You’ll both know as soon as you see it.” Hi, have you met my husband? No chance in hell. I hope “they” are right, but they don’t have a good track record. I’m totally depressed.
I’m also not too picky for my own good. No one is perfect, and neither is any house. I get that. If I can’t have a 2-car garage, just one, fine. Not fine, but if everything else hits the list, then, car ice pick, here I come. But, lord, what you get for your money in any top school district makes me want to eat out my fridge, in the dark. Depressed, capital D.
“Don’t worry, you’ll find something.” At least no one is saying, “You’ll find it when you stop looking for it,” the way they do with matters of the heart. Now, they tell me it’s all about seeing a ton of pigs decked out in lipstick before I find a hog to call home. Control-alt-D. Big time D.