Why we don't have a house

Jeff and I are pretty typical Gen Y-ers, which is to say we sometimes put a skewed value on goods and services.

Ten dollars a month for an unlimited Spotify account? Preposterous! Two lattes in one week, totaling more than that unlimited music account? Totally worth it.

Once, after I bought a stupid amount of gourmet cheese, Jeff yelped at me, "THIS IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE A HOUSE!"

At the time, we'd been dating six months and lived in different cities. So the lack of homeownership back then was due more to geographical logistics and our new-ish relationship than my high-quality dairy addiction.

Still, it was obvious then, even 2,000 miles apart, that we'd need to pull it together if we ever wanted to be like our good friends, Kory and Jenna. Kor and Jen are not only the king and queen of thrift, they are also Bonafied Homeowners™.

When living with them prior to moving to California, I started to take note of their habits.

"Today, Jenna made two pounds of pesto from the slightly aged basil leaves in our fridge," I reported to Jeff in August of 2013. "She did not let the basil go bad and then throw it in the garbage.

"THIS IS WHY THEY HAVE A HOUSE."

Not long after, Jeff was traveling for work. He was hungry at the airport and hadn't eaten. I told him, helpfully, that he should have brought his own snacks to the airport so as to avoid the high-priced options at SFO. He informed me that his plan was to buy food directly from the flight attendant on his next leg.

The only thing more expensive than in-airport food, of course, is on-plane food served from a cart by a blonde-banged flight attendant who resembles your aunt Tami.

"THIS. THIS IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE A HOUSE!" I hollered at him, threateningly.

We promised to do better once we moved in together, and so far, we're batting .500. We haven't been eating out a ton, but we do patronize the Whole Foods at the end of our block quite frequently. And Whole Foods, my friends, is not for the faint of heart or the thin-walleted.

Last week I made guacamole for a taco dinner night. I admitted as we ate that I had bought the stupid avocados from stupid Whole Foods.

"I simply can't stand for a life where Taco Tuesday is free of guacamole!" I said defensively. "It's un-American!"

"I'm fine with not having a house," Jeff said, "if we can ALWAYS have guacamole."

So that's where we are right now. I am a 28-year old who works in real estate marketing, and I have written all kinds of articles about why Gen-Y won't enter the housing market. They're good articles, too. They have stats of unemployment rates, of how we toiled through unpaid internships and got pointless law degrees. All of that is true, statistically.

But for now, I just love guacamole too damn much.

And THAT IS WHY WE DON'T HAVE A HOUSE.

Mom and Dad, I swear to God we're actually saving a lot of money and being quite responsible, aside from the avocado addiction. We hope to buy a house in two or three years, or until my "Should I wear a wrap-dress today" weather app takes off.