My potential buyer and his agent and my agent and I have been throwing pieces of paper back and forth across the U.S. for several days now. I think we've settled on a number that is almost palatable to him and horrific to me. It means, after coming up with twenty-five thousand dollars two weeks ago, within four weeks I've got to find another forty thousand dollars. Can you say "ouch"?
He has until 8:00 p.m. left coast time tonight to accept or reject, and it looks like he's going to take every minute of that time, keeping me on pins and needles. Part of me wants this drama over with so I can get started gathering dollars, and part of me wants him to go away, allowing me to continue to pay the mortgage for a month or two more until a more optimistic buyer comes along.
This is a beautiful house, a charming house, and the infrastructure is impeccable and freshly replaced. Please! Why couldn't I have found a buyer who could see and appreciate that? Oh well.
In the words of another much-loved woman, "It is what it is."
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