As you probably know, Travis and I are in the process of attempting to sell our house. This is a process that's been ongoing for almost 2 years now. We've done everything "right," in that it's staged so well we almost want to continue living there, half of our belongings are in storage to complete the "we don't have clutter" look, and since we replaced the carpet in the living room, it no longer looks like the scene of a homicide involving several ounces of Miller Lite and what may have been badger urine. Anyway, we've had a lot of (completely well-meaning) questions about the progress of our house and I've now taken the route of at least trying to make myself, and the asker of the question, laugh at my response because if I don't laugh at the situation, I *might* have to start compulsively hoarding badgers again. And no one wants that. So, here is my e-mail in response to another, still well-meaning question of, "Had any offers lately?"
Not a one - haha! We had one guy who was considering our place but then chose one on a golf course down the road. This lead me to wish golf balls to rain down on his head when he's just trying to scramble some eggs in his kitchen. No one likes a Titleist in their eggs, right? As for this round of selling the house, we've only had the two showings from the one, golf-loving dude and not a lot else. Not sure what the problem is, seeing as how we are offering it at the lowest price so far (this is the third time we've put it on the market, making it around 20-some-odd months that we've been living in what is essentially a Pottery Barn catalog while simultaneously getting nervous hives when we go out of town lest we get a showing and aren't around to remove all evidence of our beloved cats from the house.) I even wrote a letter to our metro government office when I got an erroneous bill for our property taxes, espousing the greatness of our house and how badly I want to not live in said house anymore (the kitchen's been on the Rachael Ray show - true story) because, at this point, I will tell anyone I can about it in the off chance that someone, somewhere, will be willing to buy a perfectly good house (for one person. For a newly-married couple, one of whom is a compulsive collector of all things musical kitsch and the other being a collector of shoes, sundresses, and kitchen gadgets, one becoming-tinier-by-the-minute condo isn't cutting the already-room-temperature butter.) On that note, I'm sure you really didn't want that kind of in-depth answer and you may be thinking, "This girl is freakin' psychotic." You'd be right on that count, as the next person who asks, "Have you tried staging your home?" will receive a punch in the face and an unapologetic look of aforementioned psychosis from yours truly. At least I don't have to stage my cell in maximum security, although I have a feeling I'd probably be used by my cellmate as a pawn in an auction for cigarettes during rec time.
And on that note, I hope I've at least brightened your day because I'm still on a "I'm never going to sell my house and I'm going to be forced to spend my evenings creating elaborate, yet more than likely completely false, backstories for our neighbors involving prostitution rings for the Mexican embassy and what we're guessing is a possible brothel while trying not to strangle the one lady who tries to get me to go to the HOA meetings all.the.time. " frenetic warpath.
So, that being said, pardon the hideously long e-mail. I just read it and decided that I do, indeed, sound like a crazy person. Feel free to post this on the bulletin board at work, because I totally would. To bring joy to others through my pain is the least I can ask for from this hideously dehumanizing process known as selling your house.
I would also like to note that I do not direct any of the hatred towards yourself or your company. I rather like to place blame on the government, a very vindictive turnip farmer in South Dakota, and possibly Canada.