All Is Safe With A Lady Engaged
An engaged woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied with herself. Her cares are over, and she feels that she may exert all her powers of pleasing without suspicion. All is safe with a lady engaged; no harm can be done.” – Jane Austen
This morning I met with my mortgage lender (Wells Fargo, whom I love passionately) and learned more about mortgages than I thought humanly possible. I suspect that there is much, much more to learn, only I got bored and stopped listening. You may be curious as to why I would mortgage a $15K house. Well people, let me tell you why: Because I am renovating, baby!
To make The B’more Big Girl House liveable – i.e. install a furnace and remove the lead, OMG – I am doing an FHA 203(k) loan on my house ‘o potential. A loan of this sort allows me to secure enough money to purchase the house and perform renovations. How it works: the mortgage amount is determined by the value of the home AFTER renovation. So instead of looking at my $15K purchase as the gut job that it is, Wells Fargo looks at it and sees granite countertops and that whore red washing machine that I so desperately want. They also see the removal of the dead bodies buried in the basement.
Because I’m not a saver – I’ve been told by lending institutions that I have no assets, which I thought was rude, they’ve obviously not seen my boobs - I am borrowing my down payment from my loverly boyfriend. On the mortgage forms where it asked where the down payment money will come from, I wrote ”Mr. Mystery.” When it asked what my relationship was with said down-payment-money-provider, I put “boyfriend.”
I grew a little hazy as I sat at the conference room table and signed form after form after form, so I almost missed the moment when my “boyfriend” became my “fiancee.”
A girl’s engagement is something she remembers her entire life. Done right, and the asker gets a resounding “yes” and probaby some good good lovin’. Done wrong, and you either get a “no” or a wife who never lets you forget that your proposal sucked. My engagement was neither right nor wrong, being more a matter of semantics than romantics. It went a little something like this:
Wells Fargo Agent: “The monetary gift for your down payment is coming from… ?”
Me: “My boyfriend.”
Wells Fargo Agent: “That would be… *looking at forms* … Mr. Mystery?”
Me: “Yep yep.”
Wells Fargo Agent: “I am listing him as your ‘fiancee.’ Congratulations! You’re getting married.”
Me: *stops signing forms and looks up* “I’m sorry… what did you say?”
Wells Fargo Agent: “To make things easier, it’s better to say that your boyfriend is your fiancee. Yay!” *he grins broadly*
Me: *snickering evilly* “Oooh, my boyfriend’s going to LOVE this. Hold on, I need to text him.” *furiously texts, “Congrats! We’re getting married!”*
Another step towards home ownership has been taken, and I’m feeling a little bit better about the whole thing. Lead and water damage be damned, I’m a-gonna buy a house. So now that I’m (not actually) engaged to be married and am (actually) engaged to be a homeowner, I’m feeling more and more satisfied with myself. Jane Austen was (mostly) right, my cares are not over, but I am definitely satisfied with myself and feel that I can exert all my powers of
pleasing renovating without suspicion worry. Wells Fargo has my back.
I will need to remember Ms. Austen’s words – “All is safe with a lady engaged; no harm can be done.” – when I tell my parents that I’ve bought a house in the ghetto. That’s the next step in this whole process, and I fear that it may be the hardest. I was able to convince Wells Fargo that my house has potential, but my parents will be a harder sell.
Perhaps I’ll lead with announcing my (not actual) engagement. That might distract them enough for me to make a quick getaway.
I AM: DOING some (not actual) wedding planning