After several failed contracts, a bank that was willing to write a pre-authorization for a mortgage but not actually give the buyer a mortgage, and a million showings, I am thrilled to be able to say that our old apartment sold yesterday. Which means I never, ever have to sit through another Board meeting again and listen to owners (and Board members!) complain loudly about how large the assessments are, and then demand the board take on more and more expense, and cover more and more services.
Yeah, I’ll get right on that, because as we all know, the best way to lower expenses is to agree to pay for more services. That is some logic, right there. That is some MATH.
The funnest (and funniest) part of this whole sale is watching the buyer post about her side of the transaction on Facebook. Her love of our place let me be bolder in our counter offers, and now I am watching her talk about what she has to remodel before she moves in, which is a little insulting, and how she wants to paint it all taupe, which makes me cringe, because I would rather saw off a finger than paint a wall beige. But she owns it now, and even though I was dying to get it sold, watching her be so enthusiastic about the place, and reading her friends’ comments about how large it is, what a classic apartment it is, how they don’t make them like that anymore, is making me forget all the reasons we had to move, and get a little wistful. I brought my babies home from Ethiopia to this apartment, and my husband brought me home to it as his childe bride [ed. note: not really].
Then I remembered that one of our neighbours turned arsonist and set us ablaze there, and I stop being so nostalgic, and start thanking God that we live in a single family home now. Fini.