I have no idea why I remember an interview I once heard with Madonna—it could have been as long as a couple decades ago—in which she expressed a wish to have an entire lifetime to spend with each one of her many boyfriends. The impossibility of this fantasy has apparently hampered any fidelity efforts she has subsequently undertaken.
Happily married to the same wonderful man for over eighteen years, I really can’t relate to The Material Girl’s plight—at least in the arena of matrimony. However, when it comes to real estate, I think I’m destined to take the Madonna approach.
Nine days on the road concluded as they always do—with a return to the same faithful home in which I’ve lived for the vast majority of my adult life. The partnership has been safe and stable. It was love at first sight when my realtor introduced us in the mid-nineties: The textured walls! The spacious kitchen! We even weathered the difficult Remodeling Years of the early ‘00s, hammering out solutions to issues that had managed to accumulate. It’s been good, having strong beams and sturdy rafters to surround me in good times and shield me through rough winds. Lately, though, I can’t shake the feeling that I might be outgrowing the relationship—like there’s other things on which I might be missing out.
See, I keep thinking about a shameless fling I recently had with a quaint little cottage on a rocky beach. It was only a one night stand—but oh, it was so sweet. The shore breezes, the lullaby of lapping waves…it left me wanting more.
And I’ve been having other fantasies, too. Like the Manhattan brownstone I admire from afar. The glamorous nights I’d spend reveling in the fast-paced urban high life! So enticing. SO out of my league.
Then there’s the So-Cal surfer crush I have going on the west coast with a colorful bungalow on a steep cliff with an ocean view. Oh, my…the memories I want to make there!
And I just can’t shake my desire to while away the hours in the company of a distinguished Victorian with a spiral staircase, bay windows, and closets that go all the way to Narnia.
It doesn’t even stop there. There’s no telling where my roving gaze will settle next. I’ve been blatantly gawking thanks to For Sale signs, classified advertising, and various other come ons.
I love my house. I really do. We’ve been together for a long time. I’m not really sure that I want to break things off completely, but I just might have to convince my husband that it’s time to enhance our stable marriage with some experimental renting action on the side.