So I have not shared as much of our apartment hunting adventure as I had originally intended, mostly because it has been so miserable that I couldn't bring myself to write about it in any kind of funny, non-Eeyore-meets-mental-patient kind of way. It's a good thing the quest is over, because apparently it has begun to take its psychological toll. The following is a real interaction that occurred this morning when Marissa and I went to submit applications for what is likely to become our new home (since I will actually need some kind of prescription anti-anxiety medication if we search any longer):
Marissa: Now, are we under any obligation once we submit this application?
Charmain, our leasing agent friend: No, nothing happens until you actually sign the lease and accept the keys.
Marissa: Okay, so we're not legally bound to take the apartment.
[Charmain looks at us suspiciously.]
Marissa: I mean, if anything happens--
Kate: --like if one of us gets hit by a truck.
Whaaaaaa? Where did that come from? A truck? That's the reason we wouldn't take the apartment? I mean, excepting a case in which we found a better apartment which won't happen because we're done looking and which we clearly couldn't tell Charmain... but a truck? Really?
I need a beer.