Home Ownership... Or How I Aged Ten Years Overnight

Well well well.  Life has definitely taken a turn...  No wait.  Let me be a little more descriptive.
Life jacked it up into high gear, swerved to miss the cat that ran out in the road, yanked the wheel a hard right to turn, and raced to a freaking stop sign only to wait until the last possible freaking second to slam on the freaking brakes... Stopping on the dime that the grandmother with the walker was just about to bend down and pick up.  Damn!  What a ride!
New job.  New car.  New home.  The holy (or maybe unholy) trinity has been completed.  I am now the proud father of an approximately 200,000 pound house and yard to boot.  It was a short gestation period... Only a few weeks.  It has two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, living room, dining room, and basement... And a three-car garage.  You know what I'm talking about.  An average American home owned by you and the mortgage company for the next thirty years.  And when you send in that last payment, it becomes solely your responsibility. They get to congratulate you and walk away the cowards! Oh joy.
The process of buying the house went smoothly.  And I am told that I was lucky.  I've heard horrific tales of mortgage terror that would send chills up any monster's spine.  Frankenstein's monster would probably run in fear. However, my experience was easy.... When you've got no debt and nothing to explain because you own very little, there's no reason for you not to zip through.  The sad part is what does that say about me...  Sigh, I've been playing it good way too long.  But moving on...
With paperwork signed and keys in hand, I moved into "The Little House," named after one of my favorite childhood books.  I could have gone with "Hill House" but why jinx it.
So far, "The Little House" and I are slowly falling in love.  I like to sweep its carpets, wash its windows, and mow its yard.  And in return, it likes to leave me mysterious puddles of water on the basement floor.  I still have yet to determine where that puddle came from.
Owning a house was never a dream for me. But now I do dream about.  About all the places it could leak. About shingles flying off during a wind storm. About the tax bill.  The running toilet that keeps on running.  The furnace breaking down when the weather is just about to turn frigid. And dreading water in the basement that will raise all the way up to the roof line.  It makes me think of those cartoons where the characters are floating around inside until someone opens a door and they all flush out into the yard.  I can hardly wait.
Anyway, I did it.  I own a house. Small, but cute. I hate that word.  In my experience, anything that's cute will undoubtedly grown up to be the one that makes you pull your hair out by the roots, turn your smooth skin to wrinkles, and send you straight to an early grave or at least to the mental ward at the local hospital.
Yeah, I may not have kids, but I own a house... Come on... I dare you.  Just try and convince me there's a difference.
CSM