When in Doubt, Bother Wes

Alright everyone, brace yourself: Our house in on the market. We bit the bullet, bought the farm, kicked the bucket. We remodeled it, staged it, and cleaned the heck out of it and now it’s on the market for the world to see. Someone had better get me a tranquilizer.

I am way too high-maintenence to handle the whole “house on the market” experience with grace. Not only am I not a fan of allowing strangers to just stroll right into my house whenever they feel like it, I’m a huge fan of instant gratification and all the waiting for an offer on our house is severely detrimental to my mental health, tenuous as it is.

We had our very first showing on Saturday and this is a short rendering of that traumatic experience: Phone rings, real estate agent informs me that she would like to show our house between 12:30 and 2pm. I, realizing I have exactly 45 minutes before abject strangers burst onto the premises, go on a cleaning frenzy and huff and puff my way around the sweltering house (it was in the 90’s on Saturday) until the house is so clean it screams. I then pile the dog into the car and take off for the lake for three hours.

I come home, there’s a business card on the counter, and there’s no offer. POOP! The house looked so good I would have bought it if it weren’t mine already. What could those buyers have been thinking?! Perhaps the sweat pouring from their faces in the heat blinded them. That evening I pester Wes until he calls our real estate genius and discerns that there was no feedback, positive or negative, from the real estate agent who showed our house. Cue the petulant sulking.

Bear in mind that the average time for a house to be on the market is 45 days and you can see the problem. I’m pretty twitchy already and the house has only been on the market for three days. I mean, I can’t even wait for Wes to finish chewing his first bite before I’m pouncing on him with questions such as, “Do you like it? Is it over-cooked? Why aren’t you making yummy sounds? Exactly how long have you secretly hated my cooking?” so imagine my agony as I wait for feedback on my house, the upkeep of which has become almost a part-time job in and of itself.

Luckily we haven’t yet bought our next house so we’re in no pressing hurry to move. We also have the added luxury of being picky about what price we sell for. If we can’t get the price we want then we just won’t sell. No muss no fuss.

What I would dearly like, however, is for a full-price offer to come through right now from buyers who are paying with cash and who want a short closing period (I’d also like for my student loans to mysteriously disappear and a gorgeous pair of Manolo Blahniks to reappear in their place. Hey, if I’m asking for the moon I may as well try to get the stars thrown in for good measure, right?)

Until that perfect pie-in-the-sky offer comes through, we’re just going to have to grit our teeth and get through this. Wes may be doing more gritting than most as I tend to bypass gritting my teeth in favor of driving Wes crazy. Ah, marriage.

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