Real Estate

It's Sunday. Some people go to church. Others settle in for an entire day of televised sports. I look at the real estate listings in the paper. I'm not what you would call 'in the market.' I could be. Probably I should be. You see, I am a Gen X loser who--oh, this hurts to admit to total strangers--LIVES AT HOME. Yes, I know. Pa-Thetic. I don't really know how it happened or why it is I lack that gene that makes most normal people run screaming from the idea of living with parental units. It helps that my living space is bigger than most New York City lofts. It helps that 1/3 of my year I am In House with the Scottie Dog, that I travel a lot, and that the majority of my life is lived in my head where a 3BR/2BA and attached garage is unnecessary.

So anyhow, I browse the real estate section, imagine a future in a dozen different bungalows, do the math and think about how, yeah, I could swing it. My friends would encourage this move, particularly the ones with miserable marriages who might need to sleep in the spare room. Some days I go to open houses and mentally arrange furniture and look at paint chips. But then I get sleepy and postpone such decisions until later.

Who else is in the market for real estate? A couple of Canadian geese who are paddling around the pond at the House. This doesn't look like a roadside stop, either. The male stands up tall, looks around menacingly, as if he is already establishing the borders of his property. Meanwhile, the female pecks at grass on the bank, testing bedding for the nursery. If I have my facts straight, these are mate-for-life birds, but let's be honest, when you are dressed exactly like everyone else in your neighborhood, how do you measure something like monogamy?

I wonder if I should run them off before they get settled in. I can imagine the turf wars when the Scottie Dog returns. It will end one of two ways: S.D. pecked within an inch of his life or Gosling Snack Crackers. Neither seem ideal, but frankly, I have no idea how you get rid of a couple of geese. Do you shake a stick at them? Throw rocks? Type up an eviction notice and have it notarized? No idea. As I write this, the geese are looking at carpet samples, making long-term plans.