On the plane home to California from New York City, I had to laugh when I realized that I had flown 5,200 miles to shop for a sofa. Ah, the lengths we parents go to for our kids.

My trip to The Big Apple wasn't supposed to be a sofa shopping trip. It was supposed to be something worse: an apartment hunting trip for my daughter, who goes to college there. We had one week to find a place for Ruthie and her roommate that was clean, safe and close to the subway. I had heard the horror stories about New York apartment hunting: Craigslist bait-and-switch scams, sleazy landlords, bedbugs, sticker shock. My husband and I had nightmares about depressing fifth-floor walk-ups and dingy basements. Desperately we prayed for something suitable in the trendy Williamsburg area of Brooklyn.

It did not begin well. The first day we met Theo, a rental agent recommended by one of Ruthie's friends. He looked at us with sad, sympathetic eyes.

"Ah, you should have come a month ago," he told us, shaking his head. "The smart parents come in July to rent for the fall. All I have left is a place with no living room. But come back tomorrow and we'll take a look."

This was even worse than we had imagined. Out of options, I began randomly calling numbers on Craigslist. Surely some of them had to be legit.