If I want to make microwave popcorn while I'm blow-drying my hair, I should be able to do so, no questions asked, no fuses blown.
I don't want to consider doors that close and faucets that don't spray water in your face a luxury.
Have I mentioned the basement? Probably not, because I refuse to go down there for fear of never coming back alive. Hazards include unidentified musical equipment, enormous submarine-like oil tank, a wading pool, spider crickets, mysterious storage spaces that may or may not contain dead bodies, and a faint barnacle smell.
So my advice for the day is: Broke and lazy people shouldn't buy old houses. Unfortunately we are both, and we did.
Contemplating a nice, bland colonial in the 'burbs,