For a brief period of time I was beginning to entertain the idea of homelessness. Our search for a house started a little later than it probably should have, but eventually we found the perfect place. The only thing that didn't sit well with me was the landlady. Her husband was quiet and slightly awkward, but she was very firm and persistent on her rules, expectations, and worries upon first meeting her; the fact that she is a teacher definitely didn't hurt her getting her point across either. In an effort to exercise tact, I'll refrain from passing any written judgement about her sanity. Nonetheless, we agreed to rent the house.
Just a few days before we had told them we wanted to move in though, we still hadn't signed a lease or even heard back from them. I had a sneaking suspicion that they had decided not to rent to us out of fear the house would fall apart if four people were using the washer and dryer, one of our landlady's biggest worries. Fortunately Hanna and I just got back from signing the lease, an ordeal which included an hour long reiteration of our landlady's major concerns, everything from washing clothing and throwing parties. I'm just glad we have a place to live, and I'm even more glad that we get 24 hour notice before our landlady can drop by.
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