It haunts me.
Somewhere around 1995. I lived in a darling – simply darling – apartment, complete with garage. It was perfect, I tell you. Fireplace…bathtub AND shower (separately) for a mere pittance (relatively speaking in the market).
:::cue really bad case of stupidity caused by wanting to impress:::
Buh-bye perfect place and hello GIANT APARTMENT THAT I CAN’T REALLY AFFORD. It had a great kitchen – if I had known how to cook, it would have been a terrific selling point. But since I was simply a complete idiot, the kitchen was a selling point for me, too. Did I mention the two bedrooms and living room that you could park Rush Limbaugh’s ego in?
Of course my friends tried to talk me out of it, but I knew what I was doing. To this day, I want to butt-face-kick myself…what a whole lot of debt and what a horrible reason for having it. Still, at the time, I thought everything out and was absolutely positive I was making a great, upward, move. Jerk.