We’re looking at houses again today. We looked at two yesterday. The first was vacant, and we could understand why. It looked like whoever lived there bugged out pretty fast. I looked over to our realtor and said, “Kyle, if I live here, will I wake up in the middle of the night and tear off my face in the bathroom?”
He responded: “They’re heeeeerrrrrre.”
The second house was occupied, but they owners weren’t home. Nice house. Very nice house. Except for the pot-bellied stove in the family room. That seemed to scream to me: Hospital visit for the baby. Plus, the thing had been on the market for 4 hours and 12 people had already visited. That damn house is going to be gone this morning. My lovely wife and I didn’t have the energy to get into a bidding war on our first day of house hunting.
The house was clearly prepared by a really good realtor. The bookshelf had copies of the Bhava Gita and Edna St. Vincent Millay. No one actually reads Sonnets for fun. I have an English degree and I don’t read sonnets for fun. It was pretentious crap. When I sell my house I’m going to have Spankhouse Magazine and comic books everywhere.
As we were leaving, the other agent and I were discussing the cool rug they had in the living room. Despite our best efforts, we couldn’t figure out how to steal it.
We didn’t, of course. That would be wrong. And the couch was really heavy.
A bunch more are on the docket for today. So I must go now.
By the way, I simply do not understand all of the hits I’ve been getting for “leeches” lately. I put up one stinking page involving leeches and I get a gazillion hits from Google from people looking for pictures of leeches. Clearly, that’s no leech.
But this concerns me. Far too many people have an unnatural interest in leeches.
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