It's hard to be mad about the house now. I feel like I've gone through a break up. I had my heart set on that house, you know? There was a short period of shock, disbelief, and mourning. But now I'm at the vengeful stage.
"How could the house do that to me?! Who did it think it was? That lying bastard!"
Honestly, now I just count myself lucky that we got out relatively unscathed. I mean, there are scars, of course. Of course there are scars. But at least we found out early on that it wasn't quite what it appeared to be. Before we got in too deep. Before we'd gotten too committed and breaking up would cost twenty thousand in repairs and a structural engineer to vouch for it's soundness. You know what I mean?
So, I'm moving on. And I think anyone who'd take that house would have to be a blind idiot. If they're smart, their love affair will be short-lived. Just long enough to figure out what lurks below the surface, in the crawl space (might I say it?). No backbone. You know. Nothing there. No integrity.
Integrity and backbone. Two essentials for a good relationship. With a house or a human.