I've been house-sitting in Santa Monica for the past few days. When I took my friend's dog for a walk yesterday morning, I happened upon a house for sale. An elderly woman was sweeping the front yard, and we got to talking.
The woman was such fun to talk to - she was very witty and kind, plus she loved my friend's dog, which is always a bonus. I asked if this was her home that was for sale and she said no, that she lives next door. The home is vacant: she just likes to keep it tidy.
She began to tell me about the neighborhood and, more specifically, her home. (For the record, she lives on what I would call an upper middle-class street made up of homes built before World War II. They are single-story homes with two to three bedrooms and, if no renovations have been made, one bathroom.)
- The woman and her husband bought the home 51 years ago.
- The home cost $15,000. FIFTEEN. THOUSAND. DOLLARS.
- Their mortgage was $77 a month. A. MONTH.
- The home was paid off 35 years ago.
I asked the woman if she knew the asking price of the home for sale. She didn't know off the top of her head but figured it was "over one million dollars."
Later on when I took the dog for his evening walk, I came across a fact sheet for the home for sale.
The asking price? $1,279,000.
I. AM. NOT. KIDDING.
The sad thing is, someone somewhere will pay that much for the house, if not more.
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