DC has more historic homes than it has former student council presidents, but the vast majority of them are historic in name only. I mean, you might have some kind of framed certificate proving that your house was around before most of the Constitutional amendments, but those ceiling fans and the track lighting are killing the vibe like a Civil War reenactor wearing Jordans. Not that I’m into the history fetishizers, either – period furniture is horribly uncomfortable, and no one wants to see a wig rack and a spittoon in the living room. There’s a fine line, I guess is what I’m saying, and it’s rare you come across a house that straddles that line. This classic Georgetown rowhome is one of the few.
The blocky, simple facade looks super-classy, and if I ever bought a house, it would definitely be on one of the blocks where the sidewalk went right up to the front of the house, like this one. (I’m convinced DC’s stupid tiny front yards were only built as a favor to the powerful Weed Whacker lobby.) Inside, the living room has tons of original details intact – check out that ceiling – and even the new stuff, like the floors, are in keeping with the spirit of the house’s original era. If the ghost of the original owner were to manifest one night in the middle of the room, it would probably glance around and be like, “yeah, okay, I don’t hate this.” There’s also an oversized bay window that’s legitimately wide enough for a daybed, though trying to nap in a bay window overlooking the sidewalk is admittedly a terrible idea. The dining room is wide and open; in fact, it’s so wide and open that I highly encourage the future owner to use it for something else. Dining rooms are quickly going the way of home libraries and coal cellars; it doesn’t make sense to cordon off so much prime real estate for communal dining when you know that 90% of the time, everyone is going to eat separately, standing up, while looking at their phones. If you really want your family to dine together at a table, they should invent a huge touchscreen tabletop that you can all gather round and swipe away at, next to your plate, while eating. (I meant this as a joke but then realized it’s a billion dollar idea. I feel like Steve Jobs’ ghost just winked at me and gave me a thumbs up.)
The kitchen is understated, though in that way that you still know it cost more than your college degree. There are stainless steel appliances and marble counters, and more cabinet space than you could ever possibly use, unless you’re a soup hoarder or something. The kitchen opens onto the wooden deck and the back yard-slash-garden; like the rest of the house, the back garden feels very classic and timeless, with ivy-covered walls, stone benches, and an ancient, gnarled tree that looks like something from a black light poster on the bedroom wall of a guy who drives a van airbrushed with a wizard mural. I’m not really a nature guy, but this tree is legit. I felt like fist-bumping it or something but it’s, you know, just a tree.
Upstairs, the master bedroom has a truly staggering amount of closet space; it’s the closet equivalent of a fifteen-car garage. There’s also a deck, for throwing all your significant other’s clothes down into the street if they’re ever stupid enough to leave their phone unlocked. Another bedroom (a potential office or library?) has wall-to-ceiling built-ins that could hold a whole lot of whatever. (Definitely think the agent should put that line in the brochure.) And finally, the lower level is one of the nicest in-law suites (yes, that’s a euphemism for “not-quite-legal apartment that I’m going to rent out anyway”) I’ve ever seen. And on the off chance you do end up using for your actual in-laws, there are front AND rear entrances, so if you’re down there “borrowing” some of your father-in-law’s Viagras and painkillers, and you hear him coming in the front, you can quickly dash out the back.
3066 Q Street NW
5 Bedrooms, 4 Baths