No one told me selling a house would be so much fun.
The scraping wallpaper, the painting, the cursing the former owners for hanging the wallpaper. And also, the constant nagging question, “Why didn’t we make it how we wanted it while we were actually living in it?”
I’ve decided selling a house is a lot like waiting for the return of Christ. You just never know when the realtor’s going to knock on the door, or just open it, because isn’t it great that the keys are hanging in the lock box on the door knob?
A special thanks to my Tiny Human or strategically placing my (clean) underwear by the front door yesterday for such a visit.
It’s been such an exciting time, but now that the paint fumes have worn off, my brain is starting to work again–and it’s asking important questions such as (but not limited to) why am I not using this newspaper column to advertise my house?
(I’m on vacay, so this is a rerun from five years ago. I’m not selling a house. Actually, I am–if you’re interested–this one never did sell. Paying two mortgages is a lot of fun.)
Did you enjoy this post? Please like and share!