Also known as Spring Fever.  I set foot outside my cute little South End condo to bright sunshine, birds chirping, a single daffodil poking its head up through the cold dirt, and instead of thinking how lucky am I to live right across from a park, where squirrels frollack and play, young kids are pushed in their strollers by Nanny’s, and puppies bark in excitement over the activity, and the sheer joy of their urban oasis within their city surrounding.

View from my window.

I should have known I needed to be on my guard.  I should have known that all that happiness, coupled with the smell of fresh chocolate croissants, and the zest of an orange would make me feverish with desire … to sell.  Spring Fever indeed.  If I had a spare moment I might just take it up with the Eight Street District Commission.  How dare they put me in this state.

Where the most delicious cookies, and cupcakes, and coffee come from.

I must be strong.  I must stick to my plan and not succumb to the enticements of the brokers that reach out with letters of entreaty.  They have a single gal, a mother-to-be, an estranged family member returning home to make amends:  you fill in the blank.  Inventory is at historic lows.  They need properties, and they know just who to target.

Bird bath.

Truth be told, in between these letters and my innocent foray out the door and into work the other day something else happened.  I saw I property, just down the end of my street, not so different from mine.  Technically a little bit bigger, maybe a window or two more than mine, but otherwise the stats were a strong comp.  Well – when I say that property sold for $1.1 million dollars (I’m writing this while thinking about Mike Myers as Austin Powers), I nearly spit my wine out, and who would do that?  It’s just disrespectful.

ah, springtime.

And then this happened.  I began to run numbers, in my head on paper.  What if this – then that.  How about X, then Y.  I love if – then scenarios, even if I am not mathematician, it feels like what a really smart mathematician would do, right?  Well I had myself out of that condo, into The Girard, in search of a Cape cottage, halfway gutted by July, and for sale in the fall.  I have a vivid imagination.

I am a real estate addict.  Knowing it, and saying it out loud, doesn’t seem to curb the urge to scream SELL from the top of my lungs.  Thank goodness I have friends who let reason reign.  I do believe they have my best interest at heart.  The next time I set foot out my front door and the birds are chirping and the sun is shining and the happier laugher of children fills the air, I am committed to saying – how lucky am I.  I think I’ll stay a while.