It has become my favorite way to open a conversation with Otto—after our standard “well hi there” and “how was your day?”—to ask him, “So, did you sell your house today?”
His home has been officially on the market for… a week? Two weeks? I don’t understand why it hasn’t sold yet. Clearly he’s just not even trying. And it’s not like it should be hard to sell a house down there, because my time on MLS indicates that most houses for sale include maybe two pictures, one from the driveway, of the front of the house, and then perhaps a bonus picture of some trees. Either the south is experiencing a dearth of cameras or everyone is just so polite that they’ll take your word for it that a house is simply lovely on the inside. (Oh bless your heart, no, please don’t go to any bother to photograph it. We believe you. More sweet tea?)
So as it currently stands, Otto’s house is still for sale.
My house, however, is under contract. For those following along, my house was never actually listed. I just sent a pure desire to sell out into the universe and *POOF* the buyers appeared.
Or, you know, these people who fell into my lap by a stroke of luck decided that yes, please, they’d like to buy the house.
Now, I would sincerely love to do a victory dance and celebrate and maybe even go on and on about how great it will be to not have to bother listing the house and so on and so forth, but I am oddly unexcited. Our contract is contingent on them selling their house, and the truth is that I have my doubts that they’ll end up buying. At the very least, I expect to still have to list in about a month. Which means I still have to finish cleaning.
(During the showing I had with them—which they had begged for and promised not to be put off when I told them the house really wasn’t show-ready—I said a lot of things like, “And now you are going to pretend you don’t see the enormous pile of junk in this closet,” and “This would make a lovely extra bedroom if it wasn’t filled with so much crap. Picture it empty!”)
Nonetheless, it’s still pretty cool. There are people who want to buy the house, for a reasonable price, and if it works out, that’d be wonderful.
In the meantime, as a veteran control freak, I don’t know that I’m going to be able to stay sane between now and summer. My house is sold… maybe! (What if it’s not? What if I have to list? What if I list and no one’s interested? Aiiieeeee!) Otto’s house isn’t sold… yet! (What if it doesn’t sell? What if it sells too early? Where would he go? Aiiieeeee!) And so far Otto’s gone to look at one house, which was a possibility, and then it went under contract. So.
We still spend a lot of time browsing the online house listings while we’re on the phone. I feel incredibly stressed out NOT KNOWING what’s happening or when, and when the listings in our target area didn’t budge for two weeks I griped about it. “What if we can’t find the right house? What if there’s just NOTHING RIGHT?” Later that night I awoke from a sound sleep, having suddenly wondered what we would do if we found THE house and haven’t actually sold either of our current houses, yet.
Then for fun, tonight, we started browsing the houses out of our price range, because nothing works better to help you get over the neurosis of having no control over what’s happening next than a hefty dose of pie-in-the-sky real estate lust. (“This one has over seven acres! It says you can have horses!”) After Otto made me look at the house with the gigantic great room with brick walls, wood floors, and cathedral ceilings I had to stop browsing and go down into the corner of the basement and whisper to the foundation of this house, “It’s okay, honey. You’re good enough, you’re spacious enough, and doggone it, people like you.”
So that’s the housing update. Otto’s house isn’t sold. My house might be sold. And our new house is… well, I’m sure it’s out there. Somewhere. I hope it has a whirlpool tub, because I’m definitely going to need a nice relaxing soak by the time we get there.