We put our house on the market a week and a half ago. In the worst seller's market in a thousand years.
So far, we've had about five showings.
Yesterday, we had two.
Which is annoying. It meant I had to make the bed, pick up cat hair and Legos, put away clothes and wash the dishes.
I do that anyway, but I resent having to do it. You understand? Good.
So the second showing was from 6-7pm, so around 5:45 Matt and I grab Sena and head out for a long walk. We stop at the playground and fart around.
We get back to the house at 6:40, but we can't tell if anyone's been there. Usually, they leave a card on the table but not always. We go back inside; usually I can tell if someone's been in the house - a light is off or on or something looks different.
Well, I was starving so I proceed to make a turkey, spinach, cranberry tortilla wrap with avocado hummus (Awesome! Thank you, Holy Land.) I'm sitting there eating and I tell Matt that Sena needs a bath. Her pants and shirt are filthy (because we do not have a sandbox I let her sit in the garden bed that afternoon and dig in the dirt with her little plastic shovel and bucket, which she did for a half a hour, happily scooping dirt into her pail and getting plenty on her body). Her hair is disgusting and her face is covered with a combination of drool, sunblock, dirt, yogurt and tomato sauce so that it forms an orange crusty paste.
Suddenly, I hear voices.
I look out the window. A strange car is parked in front of our house.
I get up and go to the window. Strange people are on the front step.
I run back, still holding my tortilla in my fist.
"Someone's here! Shit! Run!"
I feel like I'm twelve and trying to hide from my dad after he busted me and my best friend having a party at her parent's house when they were out of town.
Matt throws me Sena and I head out the side door, thinking he'll clean up the kitchen. There's a bunch of food out -lunch meat, bag of spinach, cup of milk,a plate of toast and peanut butter that I was making for Sena. The cupboard doors are open. Dirty knives and forks and crumbs all over.
Matt forgets to do this. He runs behind me as if we are fleeing Nazis and even forgets to close the door behind us.
We run over to the neighbor's yard and hide by the swing set.
"What the hell? What time is it?"
"Christ, why are they so late. Jerks!"
They don't stay long.
They probably saw the kitchen and decided freaks live there. The whole rest of the house was spotless - we might as well have put a flaming bag of dog poo in the middle of the floor.
We go back inside, half complaining and half laughing.
"It could be worse."
"You could have been sitting on the toilet taking a poop when they walked in."
"And you always leave the bathroom door open."
"That would have been awkward."