Well that wasn’t awkward or anything
We are entering the home stretch. I’m entering new dimensions of exhaustion – feeling delusional, unsure whether I’ve said or done something four days ago or 10 hours ago (time melting) and taking giant bites of things with bacon in them. Even the thought of painting something as minimal as my own fingernails sends my upper back and neck into muscle spasms.
A number of strange things happened this weekend.
Lately I’ve had the appetite of a wooly mammoth. Saturday I took a giant bite of cheese and was mostly done chewing before I realized it had bacon in it. If you know my dad, then your next thought is probably “of course it had bacon in it.” This is evidence of just how tired I was. That I was eating my dad’s cheese to begin with was partially the problem. He typically carries around a block of cheese in his work van, along with an army knife he uses to cut it (and God knows what else).
Saturday the former owner also came by the house to pick up a few things he and his wife had left behind. You know, small trinkets like death certificates, birth certificates, discharges from the army. I’m serious. They had left them in a lock box up in the attic, along with a Halloween Jack-o-lantern bucket, a VCR, and a seriously disgusting wadded up pad to put underneath a sleeping bag. Who leaves something like that behind?!?
Anyway, I shouldn’t be surprised given their level of carelessness in leaving behind other things. Anyone who sells their house and then leaves a used razor in the shower for the final walk-through is not to be entirely trusted.
I invited him in and imagine it must have felt awkward to see us changing practically everything. I offered him a tour (he was super curious about why we painted over every single room) and delivered the obligatory/polite “Oh, we didn’t HATE it… but just wanted to make it our own!” speech. Luckily I’d just finished dragging all of the curtains out into the garage – paint-spattered and covered in dust. We used them as paint tarps.
And the final awkward moment of the weekend: there was an open house next door and we couldn’t resist a) nosing around, b) learning the asking price, and c) finding a reason to take a break and not scrub baseboards.
Arriving in paint-spattered clothes and my hair looking like a family of rats had been living in it, there was no disguising who we were or why we were there. Whatever. We looked around and while the house was nice it only reaffirmed how much we love ours.
Then the unimaginable happened. As we traveled upstairs the most horrific, nose-burning smell met us at the top. We were literally covering our faces with our shirts. Someone participating in the open house had taken a dump in the bathroom, seriously. I don’t normally discuss these things (pooping is really not on my list of things to write or talk about publicly) but this was just so remarkably unbelievable I had to share. The entire upstairs smelled. We could barely bring ourselves to finish the tour. What kind of person attends an open house at a stranger’s home and takes a shit?!
I guess whenever we decide to sell our home – hopefully a long, long time from now – I’ll always remember this and will create a sign for the bathroom kindly asking guests to not use it.