subject: You Know You Are Growing Up When You Start Talking About Mortgage Rates [print this page] Since I left university I've lived with my best mate Sharon in a flat on the edges of the inner city with a great view of the vagrants in the park below us. It's centrally located, we can walk to the shops (before dark and with a large can of pepper spray in each hand), and you certainly don't lack for entertainment you can just open your window on any given night and either listen to the neighbors accusing each other of having a string of affairs or the alcoholics in the alley arguing with the drug addicts over who is going to sleep in the doorway tonight. That's if the sirens aren't too loud. I though life was perfect until last month my mother and father came around to visit, with two bodyguards in tow (a typically unnecessary display) and dumped a pile of pamphlets on my kitchen counter as my father exclaimed "Mortgage rates my girl, it's time you learned about mortgage rates".
Needless to say two hours later they were still there, having drunk a total of 16 cups of tea between them (I really do not know how any two human beings can drink so much tea) and my head was veritably abuzz with mortgage rates, interest rates, variable and fixed rates, and property values. It was truly a total onslaught. After five years of biting their marital tongue they could, it appeared, take it no longer and were determined to flush me out of my inner city bliss into a "modern, Tuscan-style townhouse". Tuscan style! Good heavens, who did these people think I was? Did they not understand my unquenchable thirst for the cosmopolitan humming of poverty and wealth living alongside each other? Did they not understand that I reveled in the richness and diversity of the city streets, that the tramps were dear friends who greeted me reliably every morning, the urbanized version of birds chirping outside my window? Of course, they were drawbacks and sometime when Othello (yes the poor chap did suffer from serious delusions of grandeur) threw pieces of rubbish at my window at 2 o'clock in the morning I was tempted to respond in kind but, after all, "there but for the grace of god go I" and all that. Clearly they did not get it at all so I would have to be very clear. "I have no interest whatsoever in mortgage rates" I told them, with, it must be said, a certain degree of superiority.
Gravely, and in hushed worried tones now, they patiently explained that sooner or later everyone had to start thinking about mortgage rates. It was the only way that one could progress in life, move up into the ranks of the property owners of the world and settle down, put down some roots. But I obviously wasn't ready yet, because it seemed to me that I was putting down roots, in my own rather idealized way but roots nonetheless. Perhaps there would be a time when I was ready to talk about mortgage rates, but not yet. They left the pamphlets though and who knows maybe I'll look at them one day, after all I hear the penthouse on the top floor is going for a song.
You Know You Are Growing Up When You Start Talking About Mortgage Rates
By: Albie Steyn
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