50 First Dates

We just sold our house.

Thank goodness too, because the suspense was killing me.

Every time we had a showing it was like a first date. I never liked first dates- it was simply too stressful. Does he like me? Was this the right perfume? Is my neckline too low? Too high? Was that a good joke or did I just sound stupid?

Then the next couple of days were torture. Did he like me? Is he going to call again? Do I get a second date? I knew I wore the wrong shoes.

Selling the house was the same way. I'd do a last-minute clean-up of the kids' toys and walk out of the house, drive down the street and the questions would start: Are they there now? Do they like the paint color? Is my kitchen showing itself off well? Do they like the yard? Did my 4-year old pee all over the toilet right before we left? And then the inevitable: What did they think? Are they going to call again? Do they want a second showing? Maybe they'll pop the question!!

One time (I am not making this up and am still embarrassed by it) one of our cats threw a hairball on the dining room table, all over the literature about our house AFTER we'd left, but BEFORE our prospective buyers came through. Needless to say, they did not make an offer.

Sometimes we found out why the prospective buyers declined to make an offer and most of the times the reason made sense- they didn't like the ravine abutting the back yard or the layout wasn't conducive to their lifestyle. Sometimes the reason made no sense- one couple said that our kitchen was too small. The kitchen is a showplace room that I spent way too much money on. One of the largest rooms in the house and bigger than any kitchen in any house I'd looked at, the kitchen boasts top-of the line appliances and about a mile of Silestone counters. The kitchen, ugly when I bought it, sold the house to me because my old kitchen was a cramped little space that I couldn't work in. Those buyers made up a reason- their agent called them "crazy."

When we got a rejection, we'd kvetch and speculate about the real reason, much the way my girlfriends and I would kvetch and speculate about the real reason he didn't call back, whoever the he of the moment was.

When the first offer came in, our response was mixed. We were a little insulted by his figure- we'd made every major repair during our 9 years in the house- roof, furnace, A/C, kitchen renovation- and thought our house was worth more. We were part elated- someone liked our house enough to make an offer! And we were part terrified- lay-offs had just been announced at my husband's job and while he was unlikely to be directly effected, we weren't sure how deep the lay-offs would go or what kind of financial concessions we'd be asked to make in order to save jobs. In addition, we would be moving to a new community and neither Nate nor myself likes change- I like knowing where everything is in my grocery store.

We rejected the offer.

And then our buyer came back with more money. He really liked our house. It was going to be a good fit for him. Nate and I joined hands, closed our eyes and stepped off the cliff.

We signed the contract.

We didn't know where we were going to move to but had a couple of houses we were contemplating. We had a couple more we wanted to see. I did not sleep.

We went out one more time with our agent and narrowed our choices down to two.

We decided to make an offer. Again, I did not sleep. We'd made an offer on a house we'd decided was our dream house. It had everything we'd hoped for, including some things we thought we'd never get in one house. We knew other people were also interested in the house. We crossed our fingers and waited to hear from our agent.

This was worse than any first-date jitters I'd ever had. The phone rang and I jumped at it. Our agent! NO! I was NOT interested in taking a short telephone survey! The phone rang. Our agent! Sorry, dear friend, I will have to call you back later. AFTER our agent has called. The phone rang! Our agent! With a signed contract in hand.

Phew. I am so glad that's over. Now we just have to move. Ugh.