The post in which we dance and sing "Kumbaya."

Rick and I have this little event coming up soon called "Closing On a House." {Insert spastic celebratory dance here that may or may not be to the tune of "Omigod You Guys"--Legally Blonde: the Musical.} 

Virgin house buyers that we are, we have no idea who will be in attendance at this auspicious occasion, what it will look like, where it will occur, or what we will do. Well, I know what I'll be doing: I'll be spastically dancing. And Rick will be pretending that he bought the house with someone else, perhaps even someone whose dancing experience exceeds prancing across a stage wearing a faux elephant head and a pink tutu while "Baby Elephant Walk" rumbled in the background.

Since we don't know what to expect, then, we've amused ourselves by coming up with unlikely possibilities. Here's what we picture The Closing looking like:

*          *          *
We (us, our lawyer, their lawyer, our realtor, their realtor, the soon-to-be non-owners, our parents,my first grade teacher, and my cats) all gather around the house and hold hands. Our lawyer will ceremoniously present us with the title of the house swathed in grosgrain ribbon, then give an elaborate toast to our victory. The realtors will sing a duet (we're torn between "Kumbaya" and "People (Who Need People)") while I do an interpretive dance with scarves in the background. The crowd will cheer jubilantly as the song comes to a close, and not because they're glad my dancing was over. We'll then go around the circle and say one thing we loved about the closing ceremony before making snow angels in the yard. Finally, we'll invite them all inside for cannoli and raspberry chai, which we'll dine upon until we have to fork over our life's savings our down payment, at which point we'll pry uneaten cannoli out of their hands since that's all we'll be able to eat for the next several months.
*          *          *

Yeah. With the exception of the money-changing-hands part, we know The Closing is not going to happen that way...unless by some strange chain of events our realtor morphs into Raffi or Barbara Streisand, in which case the odds would be much greater.
Weirdly doctored photo courtesy of too much time on my hands and this website.
Anyway, until That Happy Day when we finally learn what exactly is entailed in this mysterious event, we'll just keep entertaining ourselves with visions of cannoli and snow angels.

And oh--if you happened to have stumbled on this page by googling the real answer to "What is closing?" I sincerely apologize. May your closing be much less dramatic than my fictitious one. Please do let me know, though, if Barbara Streisand shows up to yours. I'd like an autograph.