Home Owning 101

So I guess I own a house. My grandmother died, and I agreed to buy her lake house from my dad, who received it in her will. I never signed anything, and I haven't paid him a dime, but we have an agreement.

But to whatever extent I own the house, it turns out owning a house is harder than I thought. For one thing, I find myself noticing things I never noticed before. I don't just mean leaky roofs or cracks in the foundation. The other day I was looking at the wall around the fireplace, and I counted eleven fish, mostly glass or metal, fastened to the wall or resting on the mantel. I've been hanging out at this house since I was zero, but I'd never noticed all those fish.

A few months ago, I ducked into a nearby shop to get out of the rain, and it turned out to be one of those curio shops where they sell clocks and rugs and prints and tumblers and placemats and taxidermy. I hate these places. But as I stood there dripping, I realized all those fish at the lake came from shops like this. If Granny hadn't walked into some store, spied a ridiculous candle holder shaped like a bass, and said to herself "this piece of shit would look pretty good on my mantel", I'd have an empty spot on my mantel right now.

Then I realized every house I've ever been to is full of stuff like this.

So as a home owner, it's become my duty to go browsing for baubles, always asking myself "how would this look on top of the refrigerator?" Which it's safe to say isn't exactly my thing. A quick scan of the bedroom in my apartment reveals two things on the walls: a bootleg t-shirt celebrating the Red Sox 2004 World Series victory, and a snapshot from one of those old-timey photo booths at Myrtle Beach. Neither is framed. Both are hanging by thumb tacks.

Clearly I am not ready to be a home owner.