The boyfriend has very few faults, but one in particular has become glaringly obvious over the past few weeks: the man has utterly no grasp of spatial relationships.
This became clear when I was down in Orange County a couple of weeks ago to go house hunting with him. He had lined up several properties to look at, the first one being his favorite. I'll admit, it was nice, but it was small. Very, very small. I was incredulous as he proudly gave me a tour.
"The dining room table will fit perfectly" he said, grandly gesturing to what had to be the dining "room".
Why yes, it would fit...wall to wall. We'd have to crawl across the top of it to get to the kitchen.
Next, in the living room, he vaguely pointed out where all our furniture would go, which would only be possible if we stacked it. I was gobsmacked.
I gently tried to explain to him that he was insane, but he was having none of it. In his mind, the rooms were twice as big as they were and our furniture was half it's size and if he had anything to say about it, this was our new home. Luckily, the landlord's strange decision to paint the place daffodil yellow drove a stake through that potential nightmare scenario. Later that day, we checked out the lovely Tina's spacious condo and crowned it the winner. I left back for Bako assuming a crisis had been averted.
Not quite.
That deal fell through, as well as another for identical condo in the same complex. When the boyfriend drove up here a week ago Friday to help with the packing, we were both getting a little panicked because we had nowhere to move. Saturday morning the boyfriend went back online, trawling the rental listings to see if anything new had popped up and... voila! One did! It looked amazing in the photos, but it listed no square footage. He immediately called the landlord to set up a showing for Monday but the landlord informed him that the unit would more than likely be rented by then. So he made the executive decision to drive back down to see it. I couldn't accompany him since I was slammed with work and had two Monday deadlines.
It took him three hours to get there in weekend traffic. He started texting me photos and the place did look fantastic, but it was impossible to judge the size of the rooms from the images. 'It's big enough?" I asked him repeatedly and he assured me it was. He filled out an application and then made the three hour drive back to Bako.
As much as I trust the boyfriend, and I do, I was a little relieved that I had some back-up. He had arranged to show my parents the condo on Monday and I knew my mother would me give the straight story. When I spoke to her that evening I asked her what she thought.
"It's in a great neighborhood" she said. "And it's very clean. It's... cute."
Aw fuck. "CUTE?" That's realtor-speak for small. Doll house small.
I got the boyfriend on the phone and grilled him about the size, and once again he assured me that it wasn't that small. But he didn't sound quite as cocky as he once did. Not that it would have mattered... we had been approved and the boyfriend had already signed the lease.
Tuesday the phone calls started.
Always mid-day, the boyfriend calling from our new home on his lunch hour.
"Grab a tape measure and tell me how long the bed is... how wide are the dressers... how deep the sofa is... how big is the TV..."
I'd give him the measurements and there'd be silence on the other end of the line.
By Thursday, he sounded despondent when I talked to him, but he claimed he was just tired.
Friday night, he was back in Bako. Rather than relaxing after the arduous drive, he grabbed a tape measure and started measuring things. Then he sat on the floor. And cried.
"I really fucked up" he said through his tears.
Hearing him admit a mistake sent a chill up my spine. That never happens. It must be bad. Real bad.
Turns out the condo is about 100 square feet smaller than the daffodil place.
I guess I'll find out just had bad a situation it is the day we move in... that will be the first time I see it.
The best thing I can do is lower my expectations and expect the worse. Right now I'm picturing something akin to a Habitrail.
The more I've thought about it, the more I'm convinced it'll all be OK. Even if it is bad, it's not like we bought it. If we could tough out two years in Bako, we can tough out a year in a doll house. And at the end of the day, a Habitrail back in the civilized world beats a castle in Bako any day of the week.
