When we found out I was pregnant and we realized that our townhouse was going to be too small (and in the wrong neighborhood) we started looking for a house to buy. And I swore up and down that I would NEVER buy a place with a basement suite in it. I refused to share my home with anyone, even if they were paying me.

It's possible that it was because I still have a sour taste in my mouth from the time we rented out the spare bedroom in our townhouse to an old acquaintance, who was in town working for a few months. I figured an extra $300 per month would help out in the pocketbook and would make up for any minor inconvenience I might suffer from sharing my home with someone other than Steve.

I would be wrong about that.

Nobody told me that my new tenant was a raging alcoholic and drank in excess of a case of beer per day. PER DAY. And nobody told me that he was a sloppy drunk who would spill his 3am Chinese food onto my cream colored Berber carpet. (Sweet and sour pork anyone?) It was when I woke up one morning to find an empty ziploc container laying on the counter which had, the night before, contained my lunch for the day, that I decided our rental agreement needed to come to an abrupt end and three months of renting quickly turned into one.

Or it could be from the time when we were renting a large house in Williams Lake and the younger brother of Steve's friend was looking for a fresh start and so he came to live with us. He had only been there a week or so when he took to hiding in the bathroom where he would smoke cigarettes with the shower running. He continued to do that even after we busted him and asked him not too. And I would find his dirty underwear on the kitchen floor in the morning, along with a sink load of dirty dishes.... And then one day he was just gone, and so was Steve's leather duffel bag and the rent money that he owed us.

Needless to say, I'm not all that crazy at the thought of having others share my house with me. So I said No, No, No to house after house after house that had a basement suite in it. Until such a time that I had viewed 43 houses and was wearing down and we came upon this house. The one we bought.

It has a basement suite.

But still, I SWORE we would never rent it out. After all, it would be so handy to have two kitchens! Especially during holiday dinners with all our family! And a giant rec room that we could turn into a bar! YEAH! A bar!!!! And we would have all these fun parties down there! We we even got a dart board! Because we could play darts during hockey game intermissions! And there is a spare bedroom where all our guests would feel right at home. Just think of all the great fun we could have with that space!

Well, a year later and it turns out our social lives are not nearly as lavish as we had predicted them to be. The Grande parties haven't really happened (there have been a couple of low key BBQ's), the spare room has been used enough times that I can count them on one hand and the dart board is getting dusty.

Also, maternity leave wages are brutal and we're tired of eating Kraft Dinner.

And so.... after much deliberation it's possible that the basement suite in my house just may be rented out as of September 15th. I pray that my potential new tenants are neither sweet and sour pork spilling, lunch stealing, raging alcoholics nor shower smoking, leather bag stealing, rent ditching jerks.