I had this dream of displaying a Polaroid on my fridge: me standing proudly next to my "Sold" sign. It'd be kind of like those bars that tack up the first dollar they ever earned.
But I got gypped. There was never a "Sold" sign in my yard. In fact, the "For Sale" sign was still there a week after closing. I have a slight jealousy problem, and couldn't stand the thought of people cruising past my house, thinking "Wow, that's beautiful. I think I'll buy that one." So I pulled it out. Which I guess, in a way, is cooler than posing next to it - literally ripping it out, triumphing over that closing like the badass I am.
I know it's petty; it's stupid to yearn for it, like those people who focus on the wedding more than the marriage. I'm focusing on the sold sign more than the life this house and I are building together. But it's something I was looking forward to. It was supposed to be a landmark in my life, a rite of passage.
The whole thing reminds me of getting my wisdom teeth removed - the dentist tossed my teeth without even asking if I wanted to keep them. (I did.) It felt like I lost a part of myself. (Oh, wait…)
It's pathetic, and probably says a lot about me, but I think about those teeth at least twice a week. I miss them. It's a little understandable, I suppose, since I had them with me for so long. I never even had my "Sold" sign. But somehow, that makes me miss it more.