Read Online The Antelope in the Living Room: The Real Story of Two People Sharing One Life by Melanie Shankle - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melanie Shankle
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over there RIGHT NOW.” He gave me the address, and I grabbed Perry and forced him into the car, yelling, “STEP ON IT! I’LL EXPLAIN ON THE WAY!” like we were the Duke brothers, and we screeched out of the parking lot of our rat’s nest.
We pulled up in front of the little cottage house, and I knew in my heart it was the one. It was yellow with mint green trim and hideous landscaping, but I could see the potential. And it was in a neighborhood where I’d dreamed of living but didn’t think we could ever afford.
I don’t know if we’d even seen the third bedroom before I was asking Robert how you put a contract on a house. I knew we wanted it, and we’d seen enough “diamonds in the rough” with blue shag carpeting circa 1973 to know it was going to go fast. Robert advised us to offer an extra $100 in addition to the asking price because it would be a nice gesture. Hey there, Big Spender. We would like to offer you tens of thousands of dollars and this crisp $100 bill.
Apparently it worked because the owners received three offers within the hour and they chose ours, even though it wasn’t the highest. They just thought we seemed like a sweet young couple and wanted us to have the house. I could cry right now thinking about it.
It was as if God had handpicked that house for us, and it became ours beyond reason and logic and financial limitations. Of course, given the fact that they had “Save the Whales” stickers on every window, they might be horrified to know that their former walls are now host to several mounts of dead animals. But Perry had on his Birkenstocks the day we looked at the house, and you can’t tellme that didn’t work in our favor. The only thing better would have been if I were wearing some sort of patchouli oil and a “Meat Is Murder” T-shirt.
A month later we signed all the papers and officially became adults saddled with a thirty-year mortgage. God bless America.
We moved into our new little house, overcome with gratitude that it was ours. Sure, you couldn’t run the microwave unless you turned out all the lights in the house first, and the kitchen countertops that were some kind of glittered laminate pattern circa 1972 didn’t match, and the washer and dryer were right next to the stove in the tiniest kitchen ever, but that was all part of its charm. We knew we could make it ours in time.
And so we spent the next several months hanging crown molding and painting walls and trying to make those glittered countertops seem a little less like something out of Saturday Night Fever . It was a lot of work but totally worth it, because I knew it was the house I’d been waiting for since I was seventeen years old. It was going to be our safe haven from the storms of the world. A place where we would love and laugh and fight and dream and seek God’s will for our lives.
And repaint the kitchen at least thirteen different times.
CHAPTER 7
We Make Dave Ramsey Sad
I MADE A D IN P ERSONAL F INANCE 301 in college. And I passed Business Math 201 only because I guilted my poor professor into passing me after I told him a sob story about how I needed to know my final grade before Christmas break so I could go ahead and inform my parents that I wouldn’t graduate on time due to failing an essential course.
(What I neglected to tell him was that I already knew I wasn’t going to graduate on time due to the aforementioned D in Personal Finance and my desire to spend one more football season at Texas A&M.)
(I’m also going to admit to you that I graduated while on scholastic probation. And honestly, I’m good with that. I’ve had to show my college transcript shockingly few times throughout my adult life.)
(Which is good since the university currently has my transcript on lockdown due to outstanding parking tickets from 1992.)
Based on this information, it’s safe to assume that I have never known what people mean when they talk about their checkbook being balanced. And I spent
We pulled up in front of the little cottage house, and I knew in my heart it was the one. It was yellow with mint green trim and hideous landscaping, but I could see the potential. And it was in a neighborhood where I’d dreamed of living but didn’t think we could ever afford.
I don’t know if we’d even seen the third bedroom before I was asking Robert how you put a contract on a house. I knew we wanted it, and we’d seen enough “diamonds in the rough” with blue shag carpeting circa 1973 to know it was going to go fast. Robert advised us to offer an extra $100 in addition to the asking price because it would be a nice gesture. Hey there, Big Spender. We would like to offer you tens of thousands of dollars and this crisp $100 bill.
Apparently it worked because the owners received three offers within the hour and they chose ours, even though it wasn’t the highest. They just thought we seemed like a sweet young couple and wanted us to have the house. I could cry right now thinking about it.
It was as if God had handpicked that house for us, and it became ours beyond reason and logic and financial limitations. Of course, given the fact that they had “Save the Whales” stickers on every window, they might be horrified to know that their former walls are now host to several mounts of dead animals. But Perry had on his Birkenstocks the day we looked at the house, and you can’t tellme that didn’t work in our favor. The only thing better would have been if I were wearing some sort of patchouli oil and a “Meat Is Murder” T-shirt.
A month later we signed all the papers and officially became adults saddled with a thirty-year mortgage. God bless America.
We moved into our new little house, overcome with gratitude that it was ours. Sure, you couldn’t run the microwave unless you turned out all the lights in the house first, and the kitchen countertops that were some kind of glittered laminate pattern circa 1972 didn’t match, and the washer and dryer were right next to the stove in the tiniest kitchen ever, but that was all part of its charm. We knew we could make it ours in time.
And so we spent the next several months hanging crown molding and painting walls and trying to make those glittered countertops seem a little less like something out of Saturday Night Fever . It was a lot of work but totally worth it, because I knew it was the house I’d been waiting for since I was seventeen years old. It was going to be our safe haven from the storms of the world. A place where we would love and laugh and fight and dream and seek God’s will for our lives.
And repaint the kitchen at least thirteen different times.
CHAPTER 7
We Make Dave Ramsey Sad
I MADE A D IN P ERSONAL F INANCE 301 in college. And I passed Business Math 201 only because I guilted my poor professor into passing me after I told him a sob story about how I needed to know my final grade before Christmas break so I could go ahead and inform my parents that I wouldn’t graduate on time due to failing an essential course.
(What I neglected to tell him was that I already knew I wasn’t going to graduate on time due to the aforementioned D in Personal Finance and my desire to spend one more football season at Texas A&M.)
(I’m also going to admit to you that I graduated while on scholastic probation. And honestly, I’m good with that. I’ve had to show my college transcript shockingly few times throughout my adult life.)
(Which is good since the university currently has my transcript on lockdown due to outstanding parking tickets from 1992.)
Based on this information, it’s safe to assume that I have never known what people mean when they talk about their checkbook being balanced. And I spent
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