Wednesday, July 25, 2012
I hate real estate. I hate every little thing about it. It sets my teeth on edge even thinking about it. I could never, ever in my wildest dreams, be one of those people who buys and sells houses for a living. At this point in our transactions, I'm about ready to call it quits and live in West Virginia forever. One one side we have a buyer wanting anything and everything to be absolutely perfect by closing, which is an impossibility, both because of time and money. On the other side we have a seller who has lived in their home for almost forty years is very sentimentally attached to it. Which is understandable. However, that doesn't mean that the home is worth any more money than what it's worth. We have an offer in, but they won't even see it until their daughter gets into town. The agent is hoping that she'll be able to help them understand things a little better.
Until things get settled, I'll be holed up over here with my shoulders up around my ears and my teeth gnashed together and a bottle of ibuprofen clutched in my white knuckled hands.