(The crowd goes wild.)
For $25,000 less than we're listed!
(Crowd throws popcorn at computer screen and leaves.)
I know! I'm thinking what you're thinking! How can so much awesomeness keep happening to one wee person?
Our realt*r called yesterday and said the four little words that I pray to hear every time the phone rings: "We got an offer". Except, apparently I've been too vague in my prayers. Because in retrospect, I don't JUST want to the realt*r to say she has an offer. After the realt*r says "we got an offer", I then want her to STOP TALKING.
Rather than adding "...but, don't get excited".
The good news is that if there's one thing I can do well, it's contain excitement when I'm royally pissed off.
These, um, what shall we call them? Asshats? These asshats offered us $25,000 less than we're asking and they're contingent (they need to sell their house in Hawaii) and their loan isn't approved and they don't want us monitoring the status of the house they're selling and some other stuff I can't remember, but I think involved me sacrificing a goat.
In retrospect, their realt*r's name really should have tipped us off:
That is seriously her name.
Go ahead, Google her! And when you find her let her know I'm waving my Number 1 finger at her fax!
So, we spent all weekend counter-offering and laughing at their subsequent offers, which increased by increments of .0001 cent, before finally taking our realt*r's suggestion that we "tell them to go pound sand". (I sort of love her for using that phrase.)
And I'm no longer laughing at my "four apples and a squirrel" comment. Because: $25,000???
P.S. Just wait until you hear who we found out lives on our street. It may be contributing to why I'm eating a freaking sheet cake right now. Maybe.