The very first thing I am going to do if I ever win the lottery (which I don't play, but that's neither here nor there) is hire a maid. Well, after I quit my job, of course. And buy a Kennedy-esque compound by the ocean for my friends & family to stay in. And visit Tiffany. And Coach. But after that . . . definitely a maid. We spent six hours cleaning Tuesday night. Poor Chris returned home after five days out of town and was greeted with "take all of your crap right up to the attic" & then had a mop thrust into his hand. Kisses! Love you! So we cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. And cleaned. And then we cleaned some more. I swiffered and scrubbed and forbid the cats from using their litter boxes. I dusted the plants. I cleaned so hard, I somehow managed to twist my ankle while vacuuming. No, really.
And, according to the Realtor and prospective buyers, it was worth it. The house, they said, is gorgeous. They used words like "immaculate" and "well-kept" and "beautiful". I can't imagine why it hasn't sold, the Realtor said. We love it, the buyers said.
Except . . .
Why why WHY is there always an "except"? This time, the buyers are concerned about the roof, which, although it does not leak, will probably need replaced within 5 years or so. (Per a certified home inspector.) As any homeowner knows, ANY home you buy will need something major repaired or replaced within the first few years after purchase. And in our price range, the chance of finding a home that doesn't need some kind of work done to it is slim or none. Which will hopefully become apparent to these buyers as they continue to view homes.
So a bit of a disappointment, but we have another showing scheduled for tomorrow. This one is with people who have ACTUAL MONEY, or so I've been told. And, remarkably, I am still strangely optimistic. If you know me IRL (which would be all four of you that actually read this), you know that optimism is not a natural state of mind for me. To say the least. Maybe my subconcious or a higher power is trying to tell me something. Maybe poor St. Joseph, currently buried upside down in my back yard, wants to be dug up before the snow falls. Maybe it's the influence of the Christmas season or the Christmas wine. Maybe Chris has finally given up & is now lacing my Earl Grey with Zoloft. Either way, I am doing my best to just enjoy this newfound state of enlightenment. I am still enough of a pragmatist to know that this feeling cannot possibly last.
Labels: must. sell. house.