"I will sell this house today. I will sell this house today..."

I knew that when we listed our home for sale in late May, it would be an exercise in patience. You may be thinking, "Wait a minute, I thought you sold your house already?" Well, we did. In fact, the first day we listed it, we had an offer within about four hours. My eternal pessimist knew that offer was just waaaaaaay too good to be true because quite frankly, it was too good to be true and I really don't feel like re-hashing the details of its demise because a) it was infuriatingly stupid, b) the buyer was an unreasonable douche, c) my life never works that easy and d) it was infuriatingly stupid. But, to make a long story short, the buyer canceled because she was/is completely leotarded. (P.S. I hope the house she eventually buys has a latent termite problem.) At any rate, this was not one of those gratifying sort of "I told you so" moments.

So, here we are, back on the old MLS again. Showing activity has been relatively plentiful and we still have ample time before we're scheduled to move into our next place in November. Eventually, "the one" will stop by and fall in love with it, but until then, I'm doing my very best not to smother Brent with a pillow in the middle of the night because you can only imagine how unbelievably uptight he has been throughout this whole process. GAWD. Okay, we all know we're talking about me here and not him, but admittedly, we're both getting tired of keeping this place showroom clean and the minute we have a confirmed buyer, all three of us are going to mess up all the toilets in a colossal way and not clean them because it will be beyond liberating.

This whole selling process reminds me so much of why I can relate to Annette Bening's character in American Beauty, which is hands down one of the best movies ever. I've expressed my feeling of kindredness with her character before, but usually in the context of her completely awesome mental breakdown scene.  At any rate, I'm something like this as we prepare for every showing, except we do not have a swimming pool and if we did, you can bet your ass I'd have it looking like a tropical oasis.

In the meantime, I know our story will eventually have a happy ending and not an American Beauty ending. Our house will sell and we'll finally move into the home we've been dreaming of all our lives. Brent will likely not get popped in the head by a deranged teenager and I have no plans of sleeping with Buddy Kane, the "King" of real estate, though if we get desperate enough heading into October, well, who knows...