"We're not virgins anymore."

Herself and Da Kid aren't getting married for nine months yet. Still, they've been looking at houses for a while getting ideas of what they want when they build one. (She already has the lot.) After much looking and searching and counting of pennies, they realized it's going to be a while before they can afford to.

Neither wants to rent an apartment because it's "throwing money away." They don't want to build a smaller home and then add on to it later. Besides, they told me, they've learned getting a mortgage for building a home requires a much larger down payment than buying an existing one. And no mobile home, either, ‘cause like a vehicle all they do is depreciate.

So, they've been looking at houses for sale and to put it mildly, what they like they can't afford. Donald Trump might be able to but not them.

Herself's been going batshit, "We're gonna be married and homeless!" Da Kid hasn't been exactly the most pleasant to be around, either.

Complicating the matter further is their work schedules. When he's off she's working; when she's off he's working. And trying to sock money away neither one has been off much.

Adding to the complications, and I admit it, has been the reaction they've gotten from her parents and Hubby and me every time they mentioned the price tag of any of the houses they've looked at.

Shock. Horror? We knew housing prices had gone through the roof but there's a major difference between reading about it in the paper and looking at an actual house and being told an utterly ridiculous price. And then slowly coming to the realization that based on the current market, it's the new norm.

Since Da Kid was working Tuesday Herself asked if I'd go with her and "Sis," her sister, to look at another one.

With a crib in one bedroom and two kids' beds in the second of the three, it was easy to see that the seller's had badly outgrown the "starter home" they'd bought new nine years ago. Not a huge yard but a decent one and nicely kept. Two-car garage. Two bathrooms, with one off the large master owner's bedroom . . . and a dining room, kitchen and living room that combined, could fit in the garage with room to spare.

As soon as I walked in the door I felt so closed in . . . and I'm not claustrophobic. I have this funny thing, too, about houses (or apartments) where the kitchen's right there in front of you the instant you step through the front door.

But hey. It's not my decision. It's theirs so I kept my mouth shut . . . except about getting whupped in the face by the kitchen as soon as we walked in, which Herself already knew makes me hinky.

For a change both Da Kid and Herself were (FINALLY!) off from work the same day yesterday. She want back to the "starter home" for a second time; him for his first. Aaaaaand, when they got back they told me they'd made a formal offer on it, just a few thousand under the asking price, and the house-price good-faith estimated monthly-mortgage-payment thingie they'd already set up with their bank. (Or whut.ever it's called.)

The real estate agent called Herself today saying that their offer had been rejected, and the owner was "going into contract" with someone else.

They're disappointed but far more upbeat than I thought they'd be. They'd survived their first attempt and with what they'd learned with just this single house are better prepared for the next time.

From the looks on their faces they really didn't mean to phrase it this way, but as they so eloquently put it, "We're not virgins anymore."