Those of you dear readers who have followed our trials and tribulations over the years know that we move a lot. Thirteen or fourteen times (depending on whether you count some of the smaller ones) in 43 years. We've moved enough times in Alexandria that I half expect a garden club to call and tell us the theme for their house tour this year is Houses Where the McElveens Have Lived in Alexandria. (Four, if you were wondering. Five when we find the next place.)
So you would think we've seen it all, right? No. Every time, there is a wrinkle we did not foresee, or a problem we encounter. Every time is different, and that is what real estate stories are made of.
You've heard about the house that wouldn't sell for nearly four months--at which point a client walked through and asked who to make the check out to. He and his wife, ever since the 'For Sale' sign went up, had been working overtime, borrowing from family, and devoting themselves full-time to scraping enough money together to buy our house. I wish we had known.
Then there was the one that sold overnight while we were flying to Kay's graduation in Tucson. We put it on the market and boarded our plane. We landed and went to our hotel, only to find our phone blinking with the message that we had a contract. And there was the other one that sold--again, practically its first day on the market--in spite of a deluge that turned our backyard into a lake. We had three offers on that one.
Buying had its moments, too. Our first house in Old Town was one that we saw in late January, bought, and moved into before most of our friends even knew we were looking. We spent our first six months there explaining to friends that we had moved--and why. In another instance, we set what must be the land-speed record on a house purchase. We landed in Phoenix around noon, called our agent in Tucson (who we'd never met), met her for lunch 2 hours later, looked at houses for about an hour, decided on one, put in an offer and had it accepted--and were checked into our hotel and looking around for a dinner spot by 5 PM-- a full day and a half ahead of our schedule.
Our house is on the market now, and things have been moving slowly. At least for those of us who had gotten used to overnight sales. It's been two months plus, and, while we had a nibble the first weekend, we countered their (low) offer and they walked away. Then we had an out-of-town couple who 'LOVED'' our house (as who wouldn't?) and have visited it twice (and LOVED it still) and compared it to places in Georgetown (and keep coming back to us, professing their LOVE..). They went back to Connecticut to mull it over, then sent their agent with a contractor to figure out if they could make a few changes. I stuck around to answer any questions. Their changes amounted to almost a full gut of the house; more specifically, the 1st and 3rd floors, with smaller but significant changes on 2. THEN, after a few more mulling days, they hopped in the car and drove back here from Connecticut to meet with an architect and a new contractor, both of whom visited--with them--the house that they still profess to LOVE. And then, no offer. Either they were (excuse me) fucking with us in a very expensive (for them) fashion, or they had the weirdest approach to home-buying we've ever seen. There was once a Broadway show entitled, "I Love You; You're Perfect; Now, Change!" I think these people may have seen that show--or written it.
And now, we are expecting....nothing. No one in their right mind would buy this house at our asking price--or even at an acceptably lower negotiated price--and then proceed to spend even more to revamp it. And yet...who would come all the way from Connecticut --TWICE!--for anything they weren't serious about? Or, if they were planning a low-ball offer, at least testing the waters with a low bid? (Note: these folks ultimately moved on to annoy and exasperate other sellers..) In recent weeks, we had another second-time viewer who also wanted to make changes--which did not bode well for a full-price (or even close) offer. And they didn't make one. Our urban townhouse had no room for them to store their kayaks. (KAYAKS??!!??) Nothing is guaranteed in the world of real estate except irrationality..
So, we're back in limbo, a familiar location for buyers and sellers. We can't move ahead and we can't go back--at least until something happens. And what is happening is precisely nothing.
Limbo is almost worse than hell.
