Selling My Soul for New York

I wasn't born to live in a "Classic 6" apartment on the upper West side of Manhattan, but I sure have grown into the role.  For the uninitiated, the term "Classic 6" refers to a prewar apartment building with six rooms: a living room, formal dining room, kitchen, plus two full sized bedrooms, and a smaller third bedroom typically referred to as the maid’s room.

Those of you who don't live in the New York City area should know that a Classic 6 can easily cost...oh $2 or $3 million.  Or rent for $10,000 a month.  That's a lot of secret, middle-of-the-night Ebay's sales of DH's old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles collection.

For years all I wanted was to live in the suburbs in a single family home instead of the apartment in which I grew up. The dream finally came true when my family moved to the 'burbs when I was a teenager.  The suburbs "worked" for me for many years, initially when the kids were small and enjoyed running around in the backyard, when I would lay on a chaise lounge reading a book - actually that last one never, ever happened.  Now my frustrations with the suburbs range from the lack of green grocers within walking distance....to the lack of interesting sights to distract me when I (don't) take my daily walks...to squirrels chewing through my vegetable garden and occasionally breaking into the garage.

Selling New York, an HGTV show, is my newest obsession.  Selling New York.  It follows the Kleiers, a prominent New York real estate family, as they broker high end apartments all over the city.  Viewers get a glimpse into fabulous apartments, both contemporary and classic, as well as what they cost and the commission that the Kleiers make on each sale. 

I am fascinated. I am intrigued.  I am so jealous I could vomit all over the "traditional crown molding" or "six burner professional grade stove." 

The apartment shoppers on Selling New York get chauffered around in limos and dine with their realtors at 3-star Michelin restaurants.  They dress for a day of house hunting activities in the type of clothing that I would wear to a fancy bar mitzvah, minus the Spanx. When we moved into our townhome, our realtor sent us a dustbuster as a thank you gift.  When we moved into our house, we received a plant.  It died a week or two later.  I wore sweatpants to the closing, leaving my Manolo Blaniks at home to avoid tripping over the threshold of our attorney's office.  I didn't want him to regret representing us in case we ever needed him  to post bail for us in the future.

If I lived in the city, there would always be interesting people to ogle, boutiques to visit and esoteric parades in which to march.  I wouldn't have to worry about squirrels breaking into the garage.

Heck, I don't care if they stick me in the "maid's room" in my Classic 6 (this would actually be very fitting). I just want to be north of a good bagel shop or green grocer.  Where the crown molding stretches as far as the eye can see.