Sunday, August 20, 2006

What's funner to do on a Sunday afternoon than checking out open houses?

Sure, there's probably lots of funner stuff to do, but not much that's free, so we go to open houses because my husband's a realtor and I like going through other people's stuff.

We go into this one house and are instantly overwhelmed by a living room the exact shade of circus-peanut-orange that makes me want to vomit. The realtor, a dumpy-ish woman who's wearing leopard print, has one of those bullet headset things on that I hate and has a serious case of Brigitte Neilsen envy, is the typical female realtor (read: in my face). Every room I step into, she asks us what we think and specifically asks me again because she says that I "don't seem to have much of an emotional response". It's a house, bitch, not the cure for cancer.

Finally she tells us to explore the house on our own because she's "having stomach issues" - great, lady, you go take a shit so I can check out the closet space.

So we explore the backyard and the attic room and finally come downstairs to hear the realtor asking us where we are.

Good Christ, I think, she can't even leave us alone when she's crapping?

"Are you right out there?" she calls. "Because I can't get this door unlocked."

There is a good 15 minute span of time when my husband and a couple other people are trying to get her out of the bathroom before one of the neighbors shows up and brings some kind of tool that enables someone to pop the lock.

In her defense, it's an old house and the most of the hardware is original, but still...