Somewhere around 2005, 2006, I watched the houses on my street go from about 200k to 600k. 'For Sale' and 'Sold' signs popped up and down like spring mushrooms. "Maybe we should sell," I said. "Nah." Wifey said, "let's wait a few years. Then it'll be 700-800k."
There seemed a flaw in that, so I asked "You know anybody can buy an 800k house?"
She didn't. Neither did I. We didn't know anybody who could buy a 400k house, much less a 6. Yet, they were being sold. Whole developments of giant 5000-6000 square foot houses with about 1 or 2 feet between them were offered at 750k and were sold out in a matter of weeks, which is about how long it took the developers to put them up.
"What did I miss?" I asked her.
"Durned if I know," she said. But we both must have missed something. What wrong turns had we taken in our lives that we could not, also, snap up a 750k house as easily and quickly?
Who were these people?
Demi-gods, I concluded, savvy sophisticates from already prosperous families who rode some new tech wave into riches and consumption and who negotiated wonderful deals with equally sophisticated, savvy realtors. They had all found something that evaded me. I was left behind, scratching my Neanderthal ass and staring into their giant plate glass windows at slim, smart COO/CEO wives who were home schooling their five prodigy children while sloshing expensive wine with their CFO/Senator/NFL husbands amidst the admiration of their Admiral/Startup/Corporatist neighbors.
That is, until a couple of months ago, and I discovered they were all really a bunch of deadbeats who wanted to LOOK like CFO/quarterback/vineyard-owning/Pulitzer Prize winners.
Who's the Neanderthal now?
And you know the best part? My wife admitted she was wrong.
Blue moon, fellahs, blue moon.
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