Don’t I just love this time of the year.

When I’m running helter-skelter trying to find that perfect place for the next 11 months of my life.

A sample from our conversations (one-sided) discussing the flats I’ve seen over the last couple of days.

Me: I liked that 7th floor place with a terrace. But what if Kit Kit decides she wants to emulate Anju George and takes a leap?

or

Me: I like that place on the ground floor. The walls are so clean. The floors are so cool. But it’s on the ground floor. Not safe for Kit Kit, no?

or

Me: That third floor place was quite nice. Very big. I looooved the kitchen. And there’s ample space for Kit Kit to play around. I don’t think she’ll get bored, no?

or

Me: Kit Kit would love looking out of the window of this place. See… see. Isn’t the view rather cool? We can place her basket here…

Oh my gawd. Whatever happened to the other two people who will be living in these places, I think?!

On a sidenote, we are really house hunting. I like the current suburb we’re living in. It’s far, I know. But since we don’t go into town much, these suburbs are quite okay for us. It’s green. It’s rather quiet. It’s rather cosmpolitan. It’s clean. And of course, most importantly. It’s affordable.

On a sidier (?!) note, I still have not figured out why brokers here take two months rent for finding a place for you. One month, I can understand. But two? It irks me. A lot.