House Hunting

One of the best things about moving is that it legitimizes my favorite hobby: going through other people's houses.

This week, I've toured quite a number of homes for sale across the Orlando area in an attempt to narrow down suburbs and neighborhoods in which we might want to buy. Right now we're renting.

In Philadelphia, most people leave their homes when they are being shown to prospective buyers. In Orlando, there is an unwritten rule that at least one member of the household must be present during the showing, and be doing something weird.

This afternoon, my realtor and I toured six houses in one neighborhood. In house #1, a woman was drying her hair in the bathroom. She waved when she saw us and told us to watch out for the piles of underwear on the bedroom floor. Duly noted.

In house #2, a teenage boy was playing catch with his dog in the middle of the living room.

In the front yard outside house # 3, a woman was doing yoga. Inside the house, her college-aged daughter was canoodling on the sofa with her boyfriend under a blanket. We shielded our eyes.

I met all 9 occupants of house # 4. I cannot go there. Let's just say that we will not be buying that house.

I liked house #5 the best, at least what I could see of it. Three of the four bedrooms were off limits, as they contained the bodies of sleeping teenagers. The mother of the teenagers was floating on an inflatable raft in the pool when we arrived at the house. She was gracious enough to show us her home while dressed in a bikini. Over 100 family photos hung on the wall, most of which were awkward.

"You can peek in this room if you want," she told us, pointing to one of the closed doors. A knee-deep pile of dirty laundry blocked the actual entrance. "But if someone curses at you for opening the door, don't blame me."

We told her we'd come back at a more reasonable hour for a second look if needed. It was 2:15 pm.

On the way out of the house, we noticed that one of the sleeping teenagers had joined the realm of the living. He was sitting at the kitchen table, wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt that had the word "Elkaholic" printed across the back. He was methodically eating his way through a box of cold cereal.

"Hey," I said as normally as possible.

The boy belched a reply and reached for the milk, which he drank out of the carton.

I wonder if the boy and his mother are included in the purchase price of the home. If so, I'm definitely going to make an offer.