I took a selfie at noon today. I had such hope. I was so naive. I had curled my hair and done my makeup, and I was awake and chipper and looking forward to my open house today. If I could have raised my hand to take a selfie when I returned home, no one would have been able to tell that it was a picture of the same person. I am not kidding, it took all of my remaining energy to push the gas pedal hard enough to get home, and once I pulled up in the driveway, shut off the car, and grabbed my purse and empty coffee mug, I was done. I didn't have the energy left to reach for the door handle. Mr X was in and out of the garage/driveway, working on his project jeep and taking care of manly things in the garage. I couldn't even make eye contact to suggest with facial expressions or telepathy that I needed him to open the door. It took two full songs playing on the radio before I finally pushed my hand high enough to get out of the car. And I have to do this again tomorrow?
The open house was a smashing success. The house was gorgeous, the neighborhood was a solid, quiet, happy-seeming place. The price was right, and the market up north is highly competitive. I am absolutely certain that this house will be under contract by Tuesday. Unfortunately, I am less certain that I will be the one to write the winning offer. It's not my listing, as I explained Thursday. It belongs to the boss (the listing, not the house). I did make some good contacts however. It's possible some of the people who walked through today will be interested in letting me help them find the house they want/need.
There was no way after being up until 2 am finishing the wedding dress (and it is DONE and on its way to the site of the wedding) and getting up early to hand it off (and then heading north to the open house) that I was going to cook dinner tonight. We went out to a wine bar restaurant I've wanted to visit for months. I spent way more money than I intended to, but how often do I get to be the one who orders a flight of drinks? I've had to watch so many flights of beers, while I'm stuck hoping that I can get a salad without croutons or a steak that hasn't been marinated in beer. It was nice being in a restaurant that was Anne safe.
And then when I got home, I checked in on the kitten came, to see that Corsica, the other pregnant cat who was rescued at the same time as Evie, had exploded. There was a pile of five kittens in front of her. I've backed the video stream up three and a half hours, so that I can get caught up to speed. Here we go again! It's a party!
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