Yesterday the doorbell rang and when I opened the door, I was surprised to see the neighbor (the realtor across the street who is also Big Kid's teacher's husband who wanted in to see my house without an appointment at 8am and then missed the appointment he did set weeks ago).
Hi, it's me! He said, gesturing to his house behind him and waving goofily when he saw me glaring at him.
Yes? I asked without opening the glass storm door between us.
Is the house ready for me to see yet?
I was truly in shock that he was repeating our prior encounter. I stared at him, wide-eyed. He shrugged and smiled.
Nooooooo, you need an appointment. With the listing agent. With 24 hours notice. Like last time.
The listing agent has been calling me and asking if I've seen it.
Call him back and tell him you need an appointment with 24 hours notice.
Eh, I understand, I really do. If I could just--
Goodbye, I said as I closed the door.
(and then I thought of 9 trillion things I should have said because that's how it always goes!)
The owner had the realtor call that guy and tell him to never, ever come near the house or yard again without an appointment and 24 hours notice, so it's safe to say that things are a little awkward with Big Kid's teacher's family now (luckily Big Kid has 2 teachers and I usually deal with the other one, but still.)
It looks like we might be getting the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood with the perfect kitchen. The perfect kitchen has a pot-filling faucet over the gourmet stove--do you know how convenient it will be not to carry the pot of water for my Kraft Mac and Cheese across the kitchen? And this is the neighborhood that everyone drives through to see the spectacle of Christmas lights and they have block parties at Halloween and Easter Egg hunts and a community pool and park.
I'm not getting my hopes up until the lease is signed (although it may sound like my hopes are a *little* bit up) but if it all works out I can be done with house-showing hell as soon as March 1st, and that's probably in everyone's best interest.
P.S. Mr. Realtor Neighbor keeps leaving his bike at the end of his driveway and I resist the overwhelming temptation to run it over every time I pass. He's lucky I'm kind of a good person.