Well, blog people, you've shared with me the frustrations, disappointments and ultimate joy of being a househunter. Now come with me as I travel on the journey of being a vendor!
The euphoria has worn off and reality has set in. Our house goes on the market next weekend and we are working harder than people our age (and condition!) should have to. We can contract out a lot of stuff, but no one but us can box up our life.
Every day we get up early. I spend the mornings cleaning out closets, cupboards, drawers, nooks, the basement, and boxing and bagging up stuff to go to the storage locker (or dump) so that when we show our house, it will seem as if we have no stuff and therefore people will be terribly impressed by the masses of room in this house. I then spend the afternoons and into the evenings doing my paid work.
SRH spends all day doing repairs, weeding the garden, pressure washing things, boxing stuff up, and working the phone to hire people to do what we can’t. This weekend we had a guy paint the inside of our garage so that it’s now so sparkly white you could be forgiven for believing it to be an alternate dining area. In the next few days we have a guy coming to resurface our cement stairs and sidewalk, a guy coming to repair two bathroom sinks, and a guy coming to do miscellaneous other handyman chores. SRH also spends a great deal of time and energy slinging ant poison about because it’s that time of year and the little buggers keep trying to come in and take over and make our house look infested and seedy.
Trying to pretend you’re something you’re not is exhausting!
I had to go out and buy a blow-up bed. We are currently only using two of our four upstairs bedrooms as bedrooms; one is my office and the other a TV den. We were told that at least three of them must appear to be bedrooms because apparently house-hunters are generally of such low IQ that if they don’t see a bed in the room, they will not be able to imagine it could be used for such a purpose. They will look at our large house and say sadly, “Oh, only two bedrooms! Such a pity! We’d have bought it if it had only had one more!” So the couch in the den is removed and replaced by a blow-up bed resting on a couple of large suitcases, all covered by a cheap bedspread. Pillows, a table, a lamp, and voila! Instant "bedroom".
It was suggested I buy a blow-up doll to put in the blow-up bed, perhaps sporting a blow-up cigarette and the Kama Sutra open on the bedside table, but I think not.
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