Did you have papers? I want them to see we have papers.
My wife and I are trying to buy a house. I've done things I've enjoyed more.
I've slipped on a wet boat trailer and cracked my skull hard enough to need stitches. I've fallen out of a tree and wound up with a splintered twig sticking out of my leg. I enjoyed both those things a lot more.
Every now and then, however, something hopeful happens. We saw a house last night that somehow met the mutually exclusive criteria of being in our price range and not making us want to barf. Even better than not making us want to barf, we LIKED it. We could envision ourselves happy living there.
But there was another couple looking at it as well. At best, you can have a sense of camaraderie about that. Hey, were all in the same boat. Too many dollars chasing too few houses. Sometimes you can joke about it. Soviet bread-line humor.
At worst, you have this sneaking suspicion that you are going to round a corner and see a jello pit.
"Since you're both qualified buyers," the grinning seller would say, "I'm going to have you guys wrestle for it. Hold on. Let me get the camera."
Sellers can do that. They have the power and the traditional bidding war thing must be getting boring by now. Jodi and I have been looking for a home for 2 years. If a jello smackdown is the last hurdle I have to face, bring it on.
"They're old," Jodi tells me later over coffee. "They could buy a condo somewhere else."
"So now it's come to telling other people where they should live?" I ask.
"They don't need that big house. We have to live and work in this community. They should go somewhere where rich people go to retire." she says.
I remind her we live in Florida, which last I checked, is where old, rich people go to retire.
"Yes, but they should go somewhere like (exclusive neighborhood).*
I point out the house is in (exclusive neighborhood).*
Her brow knits a bit over that. Then she suddenly brightens.
"Did you have our pre-approval letter out when we were looking at the house?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Good," she says, settling down. "I want them to know we're serious, too."
I love a hopeful moment like that.
We don't really hate the couple we saw. We just hate what they represent. We hate the fact that this house has been on the market for less than a week and the owners literally cannot keep their flyers stocked in the tube under the "For Sale" sign (they had gone through almost 100 in the 5 days since they put the sign up). We blame ourselves for not being smarter, not being richer. We feel inadequate. We can't do the math. Everyone seems to be able to do this but us.
Thankfully, we still have those quiet, sane moments where we realize it's going to be OK. We're not in any rush. Somehow, we're going to do it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my elbow pads. The jello pit awaits.
I hope it's cherry this time.
*(I'm keeping the neighborhood name under wraps on the outside chance the home owner reads blogs. If you're a home HUNTER, then the neighborhood is in....ahh.....KISSIMMEE! Yeah,....Kissimmee.)
I've slipped on a wet boat trailer and cracked my skull hard enough to need stitches. I've fallen out of a tree and wound up with a splintered twig sticking out of my leg. I enjoyed both those things a lot more.
Every now and then, however, something hopeful happens. We saw a house last night that somehow met the mutually exclusive criteria of being in our price range and not making us want to barf. Even better than not making us want to barf, we LIKED it. We could envision ourselves happy living there.
But there was another couple looking at it as well. At best, you can have a sense of camaraderie about that. Hey, were all in the same boat. Too many dollars chasing too few houses. Sometimes you can joke about it. Soviet bread-line humor.
At worst, you have this sneaking suspicion that you are going to round a corner and see a jello pit.
"Since you're both qualified buyers," the grinning seller would say, "I'm going to have you guys wrestle for it. Hold on. Let me get the camera."
Sellers can do that. They have the power and the traditional bidding war thing must be getting boring by now. Jodi and I have been looking for a home for 2 years. If a jello smackdown is the last hurdle I have to face, bring it on.
"They're old," Jodi tells me later over coffee. "They could buy a condo somewhere else."
"So now it's come to telling other people where they should live?" I ask.
"They don't need that big house. We have to live and work in this community. They should go somewhere where rich people go to retire." she says.
I remind her we live in Florida, which last I checked, is where old, rich people go to retire.
"Yes, but they should go somewhere like (exclusive neighborhood).*
I point out the house is in (exclusive neighborhood).*
Her brow knits a bit over that. Then she suddenly brightens.
"Did you have our pre-approval letter out when we were looking at the house?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Good," she says, settling down. "I want them to know we're serious, too."
I love a hopeful moment like that.
We don't really hate the couple we saw. We just hate what they represent. We hate the fact that this house has been on the market for less than a week and the owners literally cannot keep their flyers stocked in the tube under the "For Sale" sign (they had gone through almost 100 in the 5 days since they put the sign up). We blame ourselves for not being smarter, not being richer. We feel inadequate. We can't do the math. Everyone seems to be able to do this but us.
Thankfully, we still have those quiet, sane moments where we realize it's going to be OK. We're not in any rush. Somehow, we're going to do it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find my elbow pads. The jello pit awaits.
I hope it's cherry this time.
*(I'm keeping the neighborhood name under wraps on the outside chance the home owner reads blogs. If you're a home HUNTER, then the neighborhood is in....ahh.....KISSIMMEE! Yeah,....Kissimmee.)
posted by Bobbie Mac at 3:52 AM
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