I know nothing about owning a home, or any property for that matter, as I have always rented and, based on how things are looking, will likely rent for the rest of my life. Here’s what I assume owning a home is like:
There is a lot of dust everywhere. You spend 60 to 70 percent of your time dusting, but the house is never fully clean. In general, a home tends to be a dusty shrine to dust, hellbent on being dusty, and you must constantly rage against this. All homeowners have a feather duster—that’s one thing I know for a fact.
You’re always on the cusp of purchasing “a few chickens” to roam around the yard. Hell, you’ve got the space (that’s what homeowners say in this scenario, I believe)!
You host parties (colloquially referred to as soirées, if I’m not mistaken) and invite friends, family, and—most importantly—neighbors. You wear big coats and everyone sings “Auld Lang Syne” at the end of the evening. Children are all left with the neighborhood thirteen-year-old for the duration of the soirée.
People are always coming to your door and either giving you stuff or, correct me if I’m wrong, asking you for stuff? Right? Like people always have something for you (milk, mostly, I believe) or want something from you (money, devotion to their god). And they know you by name. Because you’re a homeowner and everyone knows homeowners by name (first and last and, weirdly, middle?).
Okay, so houses are either free or (don’t quote me on this) come at the price of your immortal soul, which is usually, in most cases, damned to hell for eternity. This is called a mortgage. If the home is free, it is usually due to a well-timed death in the family or… squatters’ rights, I think? Like, I’m pretty sure squatters’ rights come into play very often. Please let me know if this is incorrect.
You sometimes have to peel up your floor to see what’s underneath, and sometimes there’s a surprise? It could be tiles or just more floor but, like, better, or sorrowful letters from the previous owner dating back to the 1860s (best not to touch these because of curses and all that).
Owning a home means you also definitely have a book deal in the works. These two things go hand in hand. This is because houses have libraries where you can store all of the books.
Also, ghosts live in the house and you have to befriend them. They like to open things and close things and you have to let them. It’s a nuisance, but sometimes they’ll sing for you.
You have at least one—and more than likely, two—banisters. You want to slide down them so bad, but you can’t because that’s how the ghost died and they won’t stop bringing it up. It’s honestly annoying.
You have lots of toilets. And if you clog one, you can just use another one. And then you don’t have to unclog any of them until they’re all clogged. It’s maybe the number one benefit of owning a home.
You eat three meals a day at a table (square or round, both can fit inside a house) and do, like, icebreakers with the people you’re with? These people tend to be your loving life partner as well as the child you didn’t expect, but have grown to love. You have to do a lot of icebreakers because houses are big, so you don’t actually see these people very often.
You never lock your doors, but you have a floodlight over your driveway that even the slightest gust of wind can trigger. If this happens, you have to go downstairs and check to see if someone is trying to break into your house and murder you. You usually bring a tool with you in this scenario, and I believe the options are: a baseball bat, golf club, or heavy book. I could be missing a few.
Lots of dancing. Very spontaneous, late-evening dancing, the silhouettes of you and your partner visible from the outside, contoured against the warm light from your hearth.
Lots of hearths.