“Would you like that paste with a side of fries?”

If you recall, husband and I built a very pretty, very expensive home that we were recently forced into giving back to the bank. Said bank, the “incredibly secure” institution, has been systematically calling the notes on all commercial loans, whether they are in default or not. And, in keeping with this sleazy, low-rent approach to sorting out our housing crisis at the expense of local small business owners, they hired squeaky clean, not-very-bright, commercial real estate guy when it came time to list the property. For the sake of ease, I will refer to him as “Ken” from here on out.

I know Ken. I’ve worked with him in the past. Ken is married to Barbie, who is related to my neighbor. I see them at parties, skiing and mountain biking. It’s all one happy, incestuous little party here in Bend!

Anyhoo…..so Ken calls me up the other day.

“Hey Sophie, it’s (Ken)”

“Oh, hi, Ken”. I’d been waiting for this call.

“So, I need a favor”. Oh yeah. So you finally figured out that you don’t know shit about the house you’re listing and someone asked you a question that went more that skin deep.

“Well, actually, it’s your knowledge. So your house, I have buyers for it and they really love it and they are wondering about air conditioning. I see it has radiant heat flooring. Can they use that to cool the house as well?”

Now, if you’ve been reading my blog, you can just imagine the retort that was forming.

I decided to play nice. “No.”

He had expected me to continue because there was silence on the other end of the line.

“So, ah, can you tell me anything about air conditioning the home.”

“Sure. I’d be happy to come on over and give them thorough and complete tour and intro to the home. I can provide all of the house plans (showing all the truly pertinent shit in the home). I bill out at $65 / hour and they can discus purchasing the plans from me if they are interested.”

Silence, then, ”Uh, that sounds like a good idea. I can see how this might be a sensitive situation for you.”

“Ah, hell, Ken. I’m over “sensitive”. You see, I just lost $700K on that house and I’m not really inclined to give anything else away. They can pay me for my time from here on out. And, they might be advised to get a little insider info before they go punching holes in those floors and walls.”

“Alright! Well, I will see what I can set up and get back to you.” Click.

Ok, I realize I’m a bitch. He’s just trying to make a living. And, I should just go along with it. Blah, blah, blah. Really, I’m “sensitive” to that, if not for the fact that he married into one of the richest families in Bend, and he really doesn’t need to worry.

For me this is more about the serious balls it takes to call someone up who has suffered such a huge loss and ask FOR A FAVOR…SO I CAN HELP YOU GET YOUR COMMISSION…on the house that I built and lost decades of my earnings on?????!!!!!

Get stuffed, Ken.

Oh, and I’ll take an extra large order of fries with my paste, thank you very much.

And we wonder why we’re in this mess…

My neighbors lost their home to foreclosure last week. They purchased said home for $1.1 million about two years ago. Noone bid on it at the minimum of $535K. Ouch.

I’m profoundly sad about this. They are a nice young family with similar interests to mine, young children with whom my daughter has play dates, and all in all good, educated, conscientious people. And, I could be in their shoes very soon.

I tried to pull a deal together for them. I dragged my buyer into town, literally off of his death bed, to look at the house, knowing it was perfect for them and that they’d write an offer. The week before, my buyer had been in ICU with a liver abcess that almost killed him.

Per the lender’s direction, we wrote an offer for $560K. Upon submittal of said offer, the lender turned us down flat, instead asking that we “settle” for $530 and have my buyer buy a home without free and clear title, pay all commissions and pay off the second lienholder to the tune of $30K. The sum total coming to upwards of $600K.

Needless to say, my buyer said forget it and we let the house go to auction. When noone stepped up, it reverted to the lender.

The home was now in of the hands of “Investment Group X” who purchased the note on the home from Wells Fargo for, what I can figure, is about 50 cents on the dollar.

In true Real Estate Lady form, I was on the horn to the lender stating our desire to purchase the home immediately. I was told flatly, that, although they wished me to perform all duties of a listing agent (ie: ensure the “smooth removal of the last owner, maintain the home, write up and submit the offer and get it closed, etc), they were only willing to pay a 3 % commission, as “it wasn’t technically listed with me”.

Though taken aback, negotiating commission was not going to kill the deal. I had worked endlessly for a year and a half to find a home for my buyer, my all-cash-immediate-close-buyer, and I was going to see this through.

Along with that, I was told that they would “honor” our previous $560K offer, though it was considered “discounted”. They apprised me that they intended on listing the home over $600K.

Then, they asked my opinion of value.

At 5 am in the morning (8 am their time, New York time that is), I wrote an email to my contact stating that since no home had sold in that neighborhood in the last year for over $499K (a home which had a cumulative days on market of 602), they would have trouble selling for anything over $600K to anyone other than a cash buyer as the home wouldn’t appraise. AND I WAS BEING GENEROUS.

“Investment Group X” did not respond to my opinion of value.

Then my buyer then decided enough was enough and told me they were losing interest. They said the most they’d pay for the house was now $530K.

I passed this onto the “contact” at “Investment Group X” and his reply was “That’s fine. Let the buyer walk”.

Walk we did. Right across the street…to purchase a home from another bank. It’s 1000 square feet bigger , beautifully finished, backs to a lovely park and my clients are over the moon.

The original purchase price was $1.4 million. We closed on that home for $580K . That works out to $138/sq. ft., effectively erasing $150K in “perceived value” from the home we tried to purchase from “Investment Group X” in less than one month. It now comps out at $456K.

Who’s been shitting on my lawn?

I write better when I’ve been drinking…alcohol that is. The ideas come in such rapid succession, I seem to be able to make them so much more interesting, and I feel at least, that I am so much more eloquent.

But here I am, hopped up on decaf and anger. Not rage, but a deeper, more seething anger at the general injustice of the world. Someone has been systematically and regularly shitting their dog on my front lawn. The vile mess has been exacerbated by the non stop rain we’ve been having, turning the lawn into a patchwork of overgrown and dead, light green and dark, mushroom riddled grass and clover. I’m not a lawn nazi per say, but this is just a bit over the top. I have my suspicions but I have yet to catch the offender red-handed.

Suspicion is such a funny thing. It’s so intangible, yet so real. Take for example a real estate transaction I was recently involved in. My client had me write an offer on a home where the commission was listed at 3% but as “variable”, quite out of the ordinary for a non-distressed sale as was the case. When I inquired as to the rational, the listing broker told me they were looking for an offer over an above a certain amount. They  then went on to tell me verbatum that I would received a full commission if I presented an offer at a given price. When asked to put this in writing, the agent hedged and told me they’d get back to me. (Yes, the red flag went up.)

Upon presentation of the offer at the price they had reported would garner a full commission, I was told that I would instead receive 2.5%, per the listing. Here’s where the suspicion comes in: I believe that the broker is in fact charging the seller a full commission and simply gouging me to pad their commission on the listing side.

Can I prove this? No. Am I a greedy bitch for not “being grateful”, as he put it, for the commission I will receive? Maybe, but this is not about the money. It’s about integrity, honesty and loyalty, all of the things this agent is bound by under their licensure. It’s interesting to note that this agent is the principal broker at their brokerage firm.

When things like this happen, the usual route taken by myself and brokers like me, those who are work hard, are busy, have families and lives to get on with, is to just let it go. And, I too will let this one go when I’m finished burdening my poor reader with the tale.

But these actions aren’t without far reaching ramifications. As a broker, given the choice, I will opt to not work with this agent again. They have proven themselves to be untrustworthy and that is far too risky for real estate transactions, especially in this market. Aside from the fact that this agent gives all of us a bad name, their reputation within the broker community will render them unable to serve any client, buyer or seller effectively.

Update:

On my recommendation, my buyer and I looked at a lovely home around the corner, made an offer as the first one, had it accepted and voila! Done deal. 30 day close, everyone’s happy. Except of course the broker and seller on the previous deal. They’ve since changed their listing notes to reflect that a 2.5% commission will be paid…maybe. They also marked the “variable” box indicating that could change. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Interestingly enough, the shitting on my lawn has stopped. I was out late the other night, enjoying the magnificent Central Oregon night sky (a true spectacle!), and met my neighbor and his dog coming up the street. Right time, right place. I nodded hello. He has since changed his route.

The slow-motion train wreck

It’s been a long, long time since my last post. Who cares. I’m the only one reading this anyway. That being said, I’ll justify continuing the monologue by saying it’s my epitaph. The epitaph of my career to this point. The epitaph of many, many hopes, dreams and aspirations. The epitaph of a whole lot of money.

So who’s killing me, you ask? Of course, the big, mean, old (new federally sponsored) bank. When the federal government started gunning for the middle class, HE hired a desperate and well disguised hit man, your bank.

As you well know, I am a co-owner of a small residential home building company in small town USA. As a mom-and-pop operation, we sunk our savings, all of our earnings, our IRA’s, our parents money etc., into the construction of exquisite, top of the line, green built, energy efficient homes for the well healed. It seemed like a safe bet at the time. Silly us.

We are now caught in the same net most people in our town, and probably country, are caught in. No income, drastically depleted savings and a law suit from the lender on the spec home. AND THEY WANT BLOOD.

Your friendly “Home Town Bank”, the “incredibly secure, FDIC insured bank” slapped us with a judicial foreclosure when we had never missed a payment and had paid them a whopping $70K + in interest over the term of the loan. When speaking with the CFO of this bank during what I considered a friendly negotiation on the interest rate, he said of his recent purchase of a colleagues home (a home that the owner had lost hundreds of thousands of dollars on), that he had paid too much (he didn’t).

We’ve had one offer on the home in question in the two years we’ve tried to sell it. (The home is very nice, top of the line, the buyers evaporated when the market rolled in “08). It was from a gentleman (I use the word loosely) who prefaced his “conversation” with my husband with “Don’t you know who I am?!” After going back and forth trying to decide if there was enough blood on our end to actually go through with his purchase, he pulled the plug on the deal, but not before unhinging the settlement deal we had with the lender on the home.

So what’s the point, you ask? SCUM. We are surrounded by scum. The bank is scum. Any buyer is scum. I have to say, I am not scum. I’ve paid full bore the whole way and I haven’t asked for special favors from anyone. I’ve upheld my end of the deal and now I’m faced with THE situation. Surrounded by scum. Scum with their hands out.

So, do you know what I’m going to do? Go bankrupt. Yup. I own my cars outright and pay my credit card in full every month. I pay cash for everything. And because of this debacle, I am going bankrupt at 43 years old.

Just spoke with my neighbor. He walked away from his home recently. He’s renting in the same neighborhood for a fraction of the cost. This man, who, at one time, proudly walked me through his lovely, custom home that he has $1.4 million into, was eagerly awaiting the foreclosure date so that the worry and headache would be over. He was bitter and angry, but as a man in his late fifties, what was he to do?

The other neighbor was there. I’m working on a short sale of his home, purchased for $1.1 million. I need to find a rental for him and his lovely, young family. Fortunately, they have a few years to retirement and their bright, talented and hungry. They’ll be fine.

Some others, I’m not so sure about.

This is a tragic, fucked up mess. Anyone who doesn’t think so or hasn’t been touched by it can go to hell. These are, we are good, honest, hard working people. This was done TO us. If you want an argument, bring it on. I’ll go toe to toe on that point.

I wrote to Obama. I explained my situation and the frustration and disappointment I felt. I have yet to hear back.

A word on Super-mommies

I’ve had a twitch in my left eye for two weeks. I’ve vowed to abstain from drinking, but am indulging not only with wild abandon, but with renewed vigor. If you’ve been reading this post, you’ll have an inkling of what’s going on but let’s fill in a few gaps.

I have a four year old. And, like most parents, I really adore her. Beyond that, I can’t believe such a perfect, balanced being was spawned from the likes of Husband and myself. I reflect on that often, in a detached, “watching-the-other-woman’s-kid-at-the-park” sort of way, on how she not only looks nothing like me, but is sooooo much nicer, more likeable, and simply NOT LIKE ME, she is. And the coup de gras, I believe her perfection has very little to do with me. That is to say, from the nurture point of view. And that is to say, if you subscribe to the parenting tactics of most of my peers.

I don’t know when it happened, but sometime between my generation and the one before, everyone decided to be a “SUPER-PARENT”. My girlfriends, who had previously concerned themselves with 1. higher education 2. Company ownership/directorship 3. Prowess at a sport,  have now gone on to have children with the same dedication to a “higher standard” with which they have pursued the rest of the things on the list.

Now, relating back to previous posts, I am absolutely at peace with how much I suck. I had a baby because I wanted one and because I really wanted to give my parents grandchildren and I gave it little thought beyond that. When I did finally get pregnant, (no small feat in and of itself), I was informed that my father had less that a year to live. I spent the balance of the pregnancy in utter disbelief and grieving only to have my father die six weeks after my daughter was born. Having my daughter was the best thing I’ve ever done.

That alone would sculpt and shade the way my daughter has been raised. Throw in starting a new business, a peak and then a tremendous valley in the real estate market, you’d expect my daughter to behave as though she were raised by wolves.

Not the case. The highest compliment I’ve received to date was from a friend of my husbands, someone whom I’d describe as a “perfect father” type. He had nothing but praise for my daughter. In all the right areas, to boot. Speech, manners, maturity.

But back to the “super mommies”. Ladies, stop with the worry, the judgement, the fanatical concern. Let Johnny play in dirt, get licked in the face by the dog, pee on the lawn, eat the cookie off the floor and play with bugs. Get something new in your repitoire to talk about, (because I haven’t read the latest parenting book – and in fact am completely absorbed by the latest works of David Sedaris), swear a little more, have two drinks instead of one and for God’s sake, be a PERSON  again for a change. Our kids are going to grow up thinking their moms were perfect robots who only cared about one thing – THEM. Never again in their lives will anyone give that much of a shit about them. And they should know that too.

Somehow, life goes on.

In case you haven’t heard, the real estate market simply sucks right now. It sucks so badly that people are killing themselves. First thing Monday morning, I get the news that over the weekend, a local developer did himself in in his bedroom. Doesn’t help that it was in the home I’d shown my client two weeks earlier. 

“Did he do it because we didn’t buy the house” she asks, her voice catching slightly.

How do you answer that?! I don’t know, maybe. Maybe it was the last straw. I don’t know.

“No,” I answer, “there were far bigger problems than that, I’m sure.” 

I went on to say that perhaps now was the time for a little more compassion and understanding for everyone we encounter. I’m making myself nauseated with the syrupy-ness, but I do believe that.

The funny thing is that in tough times like these, the wheat really does separate from the chaff. I mean that while I’ve encountered some real nutters, I’ve also become close to some people I really admire.

Let’s start with the nutters. I interviewed for a job today. Now, in case you don’t know, most real estate brokers PAY ALOT OF MONEY to the company they work with for the privilege of working there. I have no judgement for that because, hey, THIS IS A BUSINESS. Yes, it’s a business WITH ALOT OF LIABILITY ATTACHED TO IT.

So, I arrive for my 11 am with Mr. Brown, the principal at company X. He asks me to start and I give my spiel. 

“…been doing this for eight years, blah, blah, creating a niche for myself, blah, blah, need a team to work with, blah, blah, blah.” 

I MEAN everything I say. I HAVE to do what I’m doing. I don’t have a choice. What’s more, I actually like it.

Then he starts. And the more he talked, the more I kept hoping he couldn’t tell that my eyes kept losing focus and that I was wondering when class would let out.

 ”I’m looking for PRO-DUC-ERS. I’ve seen just how much you done in the past year. I want to see a break down of your daily activity and a business plan. We’re not here just to support you, it’s a give and take. And, I want smiles, don’t come in here being Miss-negative. I’m a positive person and I want those people around me. Now you can come into my office anytime and cry and we’ll work through your problems, but once you get past that door, its ALL SMILES.” And on, and on, and on.

And for the pleasure of doing business with them it’ll cost me a minimum of $30,000/per year. Whether I make money or not.

Now, when I left, being open to the suggestion that I really do SUCK, I felt quite small. Then I started thinking, I can’t believe I’m the only real estate lady right now that sucks. Well sure enough, I have lots of company in the sucking department. Which makes me feel much better.

Now I appreciate and admire, my super-energetic and hard working compatriots. They are the “wheat” I referred to earlier. I know the nicest, smartest brokers in town. But you know, ultimately, this is a numbers game. Lots of houses, few buyers, many of us are going to be zero producers. I need to add that I will be closing on a million dollar home next week. It took a year of HARD work, tenacity, groveling and abuse to get there but I will be there. Still, there are some who will make the numbers and many who won’t. Even with that sale, I won’t.

I won’t be taking the job, even if it’s offered to me. I guess I’m too old (41) and have had my own business(es) for too long to feel that, well, patronized and condescended to. Just ego speaking, what’s left of it, of course, but when logic is SCREAMING one thing and Mr. Brown of company X is screaming another, I have to whisper, “uncle.” Maybe I’ll just be true to whatever “self” I have left, and see what the future holds.

It’s 6pm Friday evening and weak, cold, mexican beer in hand (it’s 88º and it just goes down nicely – ordinarily, I’m far stuffier in my tastes). Fridays are odd to me now that I’m a Real Estate Lady. While everyone else is closing up shop for the weekend, I’m feeling like the shutters are coming up and we’re opening for business. Which is why, next to my cold one, lies my eternal friend/lifeline/nemesis, my cell phone. It could ring at any moment. Broker Jones with a client in from Dallas who has seen my home online and wishes to show it tomorrow between 10 and 5. Ah Fridays. Ripe with possibilities.

April 29, 2008 – A Very Dead Mouse

The trap had caught the poor thing squarely across the head. The rest of the body was so unblemished, the mouse looked like it could be alive, except for the severely flattened skull, the result being that it was almost unrecognizable at all. I did have to look twice, but on the realization that I’m “it” and that noone would be back in the house save a potential buyer, I took up the charge to remove the offending rodent from the premesis.

Aaaahhhh! The things you do for love….or money. Here I am, at one of my listings, a very nice home, fully furnished, great views, all with a price tag approximately $100K over what it should be. I know it is overpriced, as do all of my collegues, whom by now have seen it and made the appropriate mental note (the kiss of death in this market). And while the owner has, on numerous occasions, been apprised of the fact that his home is too expensive, he is as yet unwilling to make any sort of “downward adjustment”. 

“Consensus is that the home should be priced at about $900K.” I say, feeling apologetic, resigned and decidedly “flappable”.

Mr. Seller replies, sounding confident, cool and UN-flappable. ”Look, if someone likes the house, they’ll make an offer. I just can’t help feeling everyone’s playing games over there.”

Playing games?! Is he serious?! I think to myself. Wow, wouldn’t it be great if this was just a game and we could all call it a day and go home.

“As you wish. I will continue to market the home to the utmost of my ability. I’ll keep you posted.” I say and sign off.

He thinks this is a game. Wow. Every week, I hear a story about someone else going bankrupt as a result of our “market slowdown”. Big, established developers are giving fancy houses back to the bank, little-guy contractors are bidding jobs tens of thousands of dollars below cost just to “keep the wheels moving”, and real estate brokers are getting second jobs at Costco.

Sub-prime lending, looming recessions, and all other factors aside, one of the big culprits in our declining housing market is “SELLER OVERCONFIDENCE”. Mr. Seller has decided to go to market with his home yet, while he has heard all of the news about the market being “soft”, it hasn’t clicked that it means its “soft” for everyone, including him. He wants to market his home at a top-of-the-market price, even though that’s a ship that sailed two years ago. In fact, with things as uncertain as they are, many brokers tell clients to go to market at a price reflecting any further decrease the market may have in, say, 90 days.

Buyers today are shrewd at best and mercenary at worst, but they all know that they can afford to be picky. Some go so far as to pre-qualify most initial showings as I’ve detailed in previous entries. They have lots of inventory to choose from, including that of builders and developers who are undercutting the market by hundreds of thousands of dollars just to get out from under expired construction loans.

And now, Mr. Seller has created a stand-off between his unrealistic expectations and a buying public that feels taken advantage of. And I, like our poor little rodent friend, am stuck in the middle and will meet a similar fate because as sure as sure, at the end of our contract if not before, Mr. Seller will become frustrated with my efforts (or lack thereof in his mind) and list his home with Mrs. Busy-Broker…..for $100K less.

 

April 22, 2009 – Attach from Cyberspace

“Just had to say it. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND…this  home at this price has no CHANCE of closing.. GOOD LUCK!!!!!! - 

That from steve at sfhorn55@aol.com who has never been into my house but felt the need to offer marketing advice regardless. Intent on not simply getting offended and perhaps gleaning a shred of enlightenment from his comment, I turned to members of my networking group, all professionals in the field and asked for a no-holds-barred opinion of value. 

Apparently, I’m not THAT out of my mind, and with the price issue somewhat laid to rest, I turn to the bigger topic, one on everyone’s mind to some degree, “How to Sell A Home These Days With Guys like that Out There”.

Unarguably, it is a buyers market out there right now. Prices don’t just drop, they tumble. Lofty goals have turned into crumbled dreams and everyone knows someone that is or soon will be bankrupt. The housing bubble burst and the collateral damage is hitting everyone.

What amazes me, however, is that people refuse to see themselves as part of a whole. Until they are bitten squarely on the ass by these events, they really, really think it doesn’t or won’t affect them. Today, they are Buyers in “the hottest buyers market in 20 years”. They are going to make a killing on the purchase and not only do they want that DEAL, they want blood, it not being good enough if the guy on the other end isn’t lying gasping for breath on the other end of the transaction.

Then they realize, “Oh, I need to sell my house to buy this house.” Suddenly, they are sellers. OOOOPS!

Or, they have this wonderful loan with a terrific interest rate, locked in ready to close in two days. Then, without warning, POOF! The lender closed it’s doors, gone. No explanation, no apology, no loan, no house. Drat!

If not yet ready to be active participants in the real estate game, some buyers are sending their brokers on the most evil of errands….THE PRE-OFFER OFFER:

“Hi, this is so-and-so with such-and-such. I have someone that’s interested in your house. Would you take blah-blah for it?” says Broker X.

“Have you been in my house?” I reply.

“Well, no.” she says.

“Blah-Blah wouldn’t even cover the cost of construction.” I say.

“Well, it’s worth a try. Bye.” Click.

People, I live in a small town where it’s easy to see cause and effect. Real estate brokers getting second and third jobs, contractors leaving town. Fine, people said, there were too many brokers and contractors anyway. Then Lo and Behold, suddenly the restaurants and boutiques start closing. (Of course, the liquor stores are making a killing right now but perhaps that is another post altogether).

But we are a microcosm, a reflection of the whole that is the rest of our country. The thing I’m getting around to is this, HAVE A LITTLE RESPECT. Some people have worked hard, leveraged everything they have, and done it right, (not with silly loans) and have simply been caught in a net set by others above and beyond what any of us could have controlled. 

This storm will be weathered by some, not all. But if all of us just take a step back and respect each other just a little bit, it’ll be a little easier. And remember, what goes around does come around. That guy you screw today could be there waiting for you tomorrow. It happens every day.

 

b

It’s two o’clock on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I’m unlocking the fifth house on our little tour of homes for Mr. and Mrs. Jones who have decided to move to our lovely little town from Jonesville, USA.

They have a long list of must haves and must-have-nots.

• View – √
• New construction - √
• 3 beds, 3 bath, 3 car garage - √
• Gourmet kitchen with all stainless, slab granite and upgraded appliance package  - √
• French country cabinets and “lodge-y”, because, after all, this is a mountain retreat. - √
• And so on.

“Honey, come look at this. Hot and cold running water in the garage. Why would they do that?!” says Mrs. J.

“So that you can was your dog, or car, you know, with warm water.” I say, smiling, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Oh, God! I wouldn’t dream of doing that myself.” says Mrs. J, turning back into the house, a critical eye taking in the features, rating them and subtracting dollars from any offer she may make.

Enthusiasm. Must be perky. But it was taking considerable effort because my eyes had started to water in earnest, my throat was like razors and my nose was stuffed beyond hope. I was getting light-headed too and know I have to get back outside before I lost it.

“HONEY!!!” came an exclamation from the master suite. “A jetted soaking tub!!!!” screams Mrs. J. “Now this is just terrific!”

I’m out the back door just in time for the black spots to creep into my vision, leaving the Jones’ to OOO and AAHH over the tub.

WHAT, you ask, IS WRONG WITH HER?

It’s called a CHEMICAL BATH. Happens almost every time I walk into a new house, regardless of price point, that’s been shut up and hasn’t ventilated properly. Sometimes I’ll get a headache, sometime nausea, but it always starts with the watering eyes and sore throat. The chemicals from the new carpet, finished wood (or wood product) flooring, MDF used for base and case, poly-laminates, all of these things are off-gassing full force in the first few months after installation. Not nice to be around when the house is being accessed daily, but combine that with no ventilation, it’s like a gas chamber. To me at least.

AND…I’m just fine shortly after getting into the fresh air.

I say it happens almost every time for a reason. It does NOT  happen in the houses my husband and I build. Why? Because we make every effort to stay away from the synthetic carpets and other culprits that contribute to that chemical bath. Why? Because I may very well have to live in one of my houses at some point and can’t stand it. Further, I really believed that people cared about living in a clean home, one that didn’t give them headaches, allergies and general discomfort.

Snapping back to reality and realizing that the Smiths are still inside, I steal myself to go back in. I’m greeted my Mrs. J. who informs me they would like to make an offer.

“What do you know about the sellers?” she asks. “Are they MOTIVATED?”

“I’ll call and have a chat with the listing broker.” I say, closing the door and locking it behind us.

My head has cleared some and I reflect that if I cared just a little less about building clean homes and a little more about jetted soaking tubs, maybe I’d be onto something.