Ancient History

Follow Me?



“You chose well,” said the inspector to a very-relieved hubby and me. The house is in excellent condition. There are no major problems and very few minor cosmetic issues—mainly cracks in the driveway. The next hurdle is the appraisal.

Our realtor told us as she was putting together our file in anticipation of closing, she noted we looked at 92 houses. Yes, 92. She said it was her personal record. Ours too. We had underestimated by about 30-40—after awhile, every split-level, tri-level, ranch, and two story begins looking like all the others. They are a blur of bad wallpaper, hardwood floors, carpeted ceilings, and Jack-and-Jill bathrooms. We saw into the lives of 92 families. Some of the house were empty, but there was telling evidence of who lived there. Stickers on the closet doors of children’s rooms. Carpet stains, pink, green, and blue. Left-behind swing sets, cheesy bikini posters in garages. One driveway had a silver fork laying in the middle. Another had handwritten signs on closet doors, asking potential buyers to “Make An Offer on Our Clothes!”

Selling a house must be a humbling, nerve-wracking experience. Kind of like buying a house.

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