Ilze Berzins

Dashing through the dust and grime of a neglected interior to make it presentable for the buying public has left me exhausted and bitchy. All winter long I’ve lolled around in my PJ s and bunny slippers, writing a bit, reading true crime books and sipping Santa Carolina.

(Already my husband hates this blog. It sounds as if I’m making him an accomplice in this crime of house neglect.)

(Heck, I wonder if Alvaro’s available…)

Anyway, the very first buyer who came through the door, a burly developer, made an offer. Bob Watzit was excited. I could read the balloon over his head: Hey, I haven’t lifted a finger and I’m about to make 20K.

Whoa!

I’m thinking the asking price must be too low. Here’s a guy ready to bulldoze down my dream house and put up a McMansion and still make money.

One thought leads to another. Not only do I not counter-offer Mr Burly Developer’s respectable offer but I reject it outright. Then I raise the asking price.

“Cool move,” my husband says. “We’ll be needing a bit of cash once we get to wherever we’re going.”

“(Expletive) her!” is the feedback I get from Bob Whatzit. Now both Bob and Burly Developer hate me.

 Still, the thing is that George and I have to vamoose at a moments notice. Leave the house immaculate, pack up our two monstrous canines and go sit on a park bench till the  realtor’s allotted time is up. Brr… It’s cold today.

And these damn realtors don’t always turn up. They’re way too important to phone and cancel.

Earlier today, this incredible luxury car (Mercedes  upwards 60K) drove up with a George Hamilton look-alike behind the wheel. He was bringing two red-necky females (smokers) to view my dream house.

We got out of the way, drove around a bit to give them time to talk about my house behind my back. Quick in and out. We came back early and they were gone.

 Events conspire, people conspire…

Last night Bob Whatzit invited himself over for a glass of wine. Why? You tell me.

The long and the short of it is that today I finally fired Bob Whatzit.

I think he’s glad to go.

Tomorrow is another day.

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