Spike, not so much. It's not like we live in a big house now, but he can watch the Leafs or play his guitar while I read a book – we have room for both of those things at once. Plus we're both klutzes. Everything would break, very quickly.
He's probably right.
He's probably right.
Still, I'm SO intrigued. The perfect floorplan, everything in its place, sunshine streaming in, and though they are tiny, they are beautiful. And no mortgage, in some cases!
No. Mortgage.
So today I saw this: http://www.cbc.ca/thecurrent/mobile/touch/episode/2015/02/18/micro-condos-in-an-overheated-housing-market/
Psychologists worrying about the possible trauma of living in a tiny space.
Are. You. Kidding. Me.
Listen, dislike it if you wish. Choose (because you can) to live in a giant home where the vacuuming never ends. Acknowledge that both you and your Spike tend to be animated while telling a story and need some arm-waving space. Fair enough.
If you buy one and then realize it's not for you ... move away. Or even just step outside onto the giant planet that is ours and get yourself a latte.
If you buy one and then realize it's not for you ... move away. Or even just step outside onto the giant planet that is ours and get yourself a latte.
But let's not bandy about words like "trauma" when discussing living in a tiny, perfectly-appointed, safe and secure, beautiful home in the urban centre or wilderness of your choice. Mmm-kay?
mutters "trauma, pfft"
... snorts
... waves arms in disgust
... walks away
