This house really confused me. When I first laid eyes on it, I thought it was a wacky relic from the Seventies built by, like, an eccentric old weirdo who also designed Trapper Keepers or something. Which meant, of course, that I loved it. I mean, even the font they used for the house number seems confrontationally ironic, doesn’t it? You can imagine how surprised I was when I learned that this house was built this year. Do people who buy $3 million houses appreciate irony to the extent that they’ll live in a house that’s basically a big meme? I mean, I love the place, but I also sported an aggressive mullet for most of the past decade, just because I thought it was hilarious. I guess we’ll see.
You enter into a bright, high-ceilinged foyer; there’s a sitting room right there that has a massive picture window looking out onto the street, so you’ll have plenty of time to consult your Big Book o’ Excuses when you see neighborhood kids selling fundraising candy bars coming up your front walk. (I always go with, “I don’t actually live here, I’m a burglar.”) Down the main hall is the dining room, which has a wall of built-ins that *should* be used to display fine china or something, but will probably end up being filled with stacks of student loan bills and yogawear catalogs. The kitchen is one of those world-class “this kitchen is way too nice to actually cook in” kitchens, with Wolfe stainless steel appliances and a white marble waterfall island. (The marble waterfall thing looks really nice, but every time I see one, all I can think is, “if you stubbed your toe on that, you’d have to use crutches for three months afterwards.”)
The living room has a beautiful gas fireplace, for those cold winter nights when you just want to grab a book and curl up next to a perpetually combusting jet of an invisible deadly substance, and glass doors open onto an expansive deck. Up the floating staircase is the absolutely huge master bedroom suite; the bedroom itself has several oversized windows and gets tons of light, and the master bath is a chamber of white marble, with backlit mirrors above twin basins, a glass-walled shower, and an incredible soaking tub that could comfortably accommodate a full-grown alligator. (Don’t keep an alligator in your bathtub unless you’re Pablo Escobar.) There are also not one but two lavish walk-in closets, so you and your significant other’s clothes can stay completely separate. From now on, when they’re like, “yeesh, are you really just going to keep all your clothes in piles on the floor?” you can answer with, “what were you doing in my walk-in closet?!” instead of acknowledging the actual problem, which is likely a weird stew of laziness, mild depression, and unresolved angst about your parents’ divorce when you were 9. (“Maybe if I mess up my room, Mom will come back to clean it up.”) On the top floor is a wet bar and the awesome roof deck, which is big enough to maybe land a helicopter on, depending on weather conditions. The deck has an awesome view out onto Rock Creek Park, which from this height and distance looks like an unspoiled green oasis, which is kinda funny if you’ve ever hiked through the park and seen firsthand that behind almost every tree is a hobo going to the bathroom or a clique of high school kids smoking a joint or a jogger taking a questionable selfie to send to Greg from Marketing. Per square foot, it’s probably more crowded on the weekend than Adams Morgan.
The bottom level of the house is a bright, open in-law suite that’s somewhere between 100% and 750% too nice for your in-laws, depending how horrible they are, and since the house is new construction, it has all the latest features, like smart home technology, an integrated sound system, and even an electric car charger in the garage. I’d suggest keeping a fire extinguisher in the garage for when your aunt visits and tries to use the car charger to top off the charge on her flip phone.
2715 Tennyson Street NW
6 Bedrooms, 6 Baths
All photos courtesy MRIS; listing courtesy of Coldwell Banker, 202-387-6180