The answer to his question, in my case, is long and involved. Suffice it to say that we carefully considered various aspects that came up during our search. By the time we decided on a house, I clearly understood how innocent people could be coerced into confessing to crimes they didn’t commit. I was worn-down, wrung-out, please-make-it-stop exhausted. I’d sign anything.

The house we’re in is terrific, a remodeled older home with high ceilings, a great kitchen, and showers that don’t change temperature when you flush the toilet. But for weeks after moving in, I whined bitterly (to the two aforementioned friends, among others) about not holding fast to our original plan. Never mind that nothing remotely close to what we said we wanted existed. Otherwise, we’d have bought it. The point was that, instead of ending up in the house and neighborhood of our dreams, we landed somewhere else altogether. And I didn’t like it.

While I flailed around in the deep, cold waters of shark-infested buyer’s remorse, my writer friend was not only beating me to the punch on writing about the study, she was accusing me of epitomizing the study.

Maybe. I doubt it. But I’ll have to think about it a little before deciding.