This house is much larger than it looks, sort of like the ten-pound burrito I once tried to eat in a single sitting, though in this case the discrepancy between perception and reality is due to clever landscaping and a recent renovation to the house’s rear, and not low blood sugar and five beers. (I spent the next sixteen hours chugging hot tea and various digestifs and had heartburn so bad that I slept sitting up that night – and I didn’t even finish the burrito!)
This beautiful Colonial won’t cause you near as much discomfort, though, unless you count the wistful, vaguely resentful expressions of your friends who still live in basement studios when they come over for a visit. You enter into the large, bright living room, which features an imposing stone fireplace; if you ever lose your job and get your heat turned off, you’ll be able to survive the winter by burning random tree branches and your neighbors’ cardboard recycling in there. Oh, and this house has a parlor, which is a small room at the front of the house where you can visit with people you don’t like enough to invite into the main part of your house (not even joking). Keep your cat’s litter box in there, and some backless wooden barstools, and even the chattiest guest will leave after five minutes or so.
There’s a large formal dining room, and the kitchen has an angled ceiling and two levels of large windows, so prepare to see just how inedible your cooking looks in natural light. Next to the kitchen is the great room, which is exactly what it says it is; a great big room. True story: people used to have a “best room” in their houses, but at some point the name got changed to “great room,” I guess because when you have a clear favorite room, all the other ones start acting up for attention by shoplifting and dyeing their hair black, et cetera. Also, when you have a “best room,” you also logically have a “worst room,” which just seems unnecessarily mean, like naming one of your kids “Loser” or something. This great room opens, via two pairs of sliding glass doors, onto the huge wooden deck that overlooks the back yard. The yard seems big enough to build a regulation-sized baseball diamond back there, which if I’m not mistaken is the premise for that stupid Kevin Costner movie that all dads like.
Upstairs, the owner’s suite has a peaked ceiling, tons of windows, a skylight, and a juliet balcony, which is a technical term for a balcony that’s made specifically for courting someone your parents hate, and who you’ll eventually enter into a murder-suicide pact with. (No seriously though, it’s for peeing off of when you’re to drunk to stagger to the bathroom.) The master bath has twin basins, a glass-walled shower and more marble than Trump Tower Rome, and there’s a full walk-in closet where you can just throw all your sweaters and socks in a pile until that fateful day you discover silverfish nesting in them and have to burn it all. (I speak from sad personal experience.) Finally, there’s a fully detached garage somewhat remote from the house that will inevitably be taken over by the man of the house for guitar-playing or glassblowing or ham radio or whatever dad hobby he takes up to distract himself from the creeping realization that when he had children, he literally produced his own earthly replacements.
4550 Klingle Street NW
5 Bedrooms, 5.5 Baths
All photos courtesy MRIS; listing courtesy WC & AN Miller, 202-966-1400