A Christmas Miracle (sort of)

I spent all of Monday channeling my inner twelve-year-old, willing my phone to ring, only to have my hopes destroyed when it wasn't who I wanted it to be. (Looking back on it, I can't even remember who my twelve-year-old self could have been waiting for. Mary, do you remember? Who was The One in seventh grade? Fortunately, by the end of high school, I became smart enough to discontinue the whole waiting-by-the-phone thing. Honestly, what the hell was I waiting for?) ANYWAY, the Realtor finally called yesterday to set up a second showing for this afternoon. And, after spending nearly an hour in the house with the Realtor, her prospective buyer and his dad - bribing them with chocolates & freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies, I might add - we have an offer. Oh yes, you read that right, AN OFFER!

Except . . .

(Oh come on, you knew that was coming.)

It is a low offer. Very low. Not as low as the ones we've had from investors that just want to flip it, but still very, very low. The house is already listed for less than what I paid for it, and ultimately, we'll end up losing about $20,000 if we accept this offer. And that thought, quite literally, makes me nauseous. So I'm going to figure out exactly how much money we'd have to take to closing to get out of this & then I'm going to stop thinking. I'm going to go home & watch Without a Trace reruns, eat something incredibly bad for me & drink some of the wine we bought over the weekend. And I guess a looooong bubble bath couldn't hurt. And maybe after that I will feel better equipped to make this decision. Or maybe I'll just feel drunk & pruney & even more nauseous. At least I have a plan.