“Nope, can’t live here.”
I looked at him, exhausted. This was the 25th home we’ve seen and the most promising by far.
“Why not?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from growing screechy.
He nodded to the far wall.
“Creepy little crawlspace door.”
In the corner of the second floor bedroom stood a door no more than two feet high.
“More specifically,” he said, pointing to the doorknob. “It has a doorknob, not a one-sided latch.”
“So?” I asked.
Our real estate agent walked to the door, her 32-tooth grin never wavering. She reached for the knob. My husband winced as she opened it. It revealed nothing but wooden beams and attic fluff.
My husband took a deep breath. I stared at him, awaiting further explanation why an attic door with a knob meant weeks of additional house hunting.
“A latch on the inside is one thing,” he said. “WHY WOULD YOU GIVE THEM KNOB TO COME IN?”