Tonight on the phone while discussing the whole Housing Situation (it now merits capitalization, and in a couple more weeks, I’ll be shouting in all caps, LUCKY YOU), Otto said this:
“I’m torn, here, because I’m trying to be the good husband and—”
There was more, but I stopped listening, because he’d just said he was trying to be a good husband and I was wondering why he used that particular word. And then I remembered it’s because HEY, HE’S MY HUSBAND! How did that happen? Oh, right, that happened about nine days ago and now I have a husband. Nifty.
Of course, we tend to be the veritable poster children for that whole Mars/Venus thing of women wanting a sympathetic ear and men needing to fix things, and once I recovered from my whole “like, ohmigod, we are totally MARRIED, dude!” reverie I had to remind him that there is no fix for the current situation.
A few people commented on the last post saying “Hey, didn’t you say you were never going to let those people in the house again?” And to you I say: Desperation causes people to do strange things! Also there was a long comedy of errors that brought me to the point where I was face-to-face at the door with Mrs. Lowball.
First, my realtor was out of town for a conference or something. He uses a service to schedule appointments, and how it works is that someone who sounds like they would rather be anywhere else than stuck at an appointment desk says that they are calling to schedule a showing, and I say okay, and then they sigh, LOUDLY, and tell me when the appointment will be, and I say okay, and they say “have a nice day ma’am” in the same tone of voice I generally reserve for proclamations like “I think that’s a dead skunk in the road.” Then I get an email that confirms the appointment and tells me who the realtor is.
When I told MY realtor that I didn’t want the Lowballs’ realtor here again, he said okay. I don’t know if that meant “I will take care of it” and then he went out of town and forgot or if that meant “Okay, turn down appointments she requests,” but I somehow accepted an appointment from her. While my realtor was unavailable.
I stewed about it, and consulted Otto, who pointed out that even though she’s an idiot, clearly she likes the house if she’s coming back to show it to more people. So I kept the appointment, but vowed to stay and not leave her here unattended.
It had never even occurred to me that she might be bringing the Lowballs in for a THIRD showing. But that’s what happened, and unfortunately, something else happened: My internet connection went all Comcastic, so I couldn’t stay home claiming to be working. I had already vowed to chance leaving the stupid realtor there on her own so that I could run over to the coffee shop and finish up some work, and then there were the Lowballs, and I didn’t know how to stay, so I didn’t.
They didn’t break anything this time, at least. Of course, they’re not buying the house, either, which is both good and bad. It’s good because I strongly suspect they are KUHRAZEE but it is bad because hello, where are my buyers?
The other people who saw the house this weekend absolutely love it. And just as soon as they sell their house out-of-state they’d like to make an offer. That will be happening right around the time that unicorns fly out of my butt, by the way.
So the house, it is not sold. It is not selling. And I still own it jointly with my ex, and although I have generally adopted a policy of not mentioning my ex here anymore because it is tiresome to receive furious phone calls telling me what I meant and what I can and cannot do, I’ll just say this: We have to agree on any action taken, and do you suppose we tend to agree with each other very often? Right. So the sale of the house (or lack thereof) is just a wee little problem right now, much as that iceberg was a wee little problem for the Titanic.
[Now could you please answer the phone for me? Here, I’ll even save you the trouble of taking a message: I’m totally wrong and unfair! There. Thanks.]
In the meantime, I feel time ticking down. First, I would like to move and do that whole living with my husband thing as soon as possible, because I like him and I feel that we require more time together to cement the foundation of our marriage. Preferably naked. (Um, just kidding, Dad!) Second, there’s the whole school thing. Should we fail to be residents within our chosen zone by the time school starts, we lose the kids’ placement. And that would pretty much suck for everyone.
Of course, I can’t really give this whole situation the attention it deserves right now. I’m too busy spending every morning checking for lice and every evening gooping up the children’s hair and combing it out with the itty-bitty lice comb. And scratching my own head. Which is totally infested with psychosomatic lice.
A good husband would totally find someone to buy my house for top dollar and also be here checking my head for nits. And rubbing my feet. Or, alternatively, listening to me whine about it on the phone and making me laugh with pronouncements like “But it’ll be fun to have everyone crammed in here… it’ll be like camp!”
I guess I’ll keep him.