I had a very romantic Valentine's Day yesterday. John and I spent two hours writing an offer on a house. Mmm, so sweet and so thoughtful. Handing over a check for several thousand dollars raises the blood pressure just like a long, torchy kiss. The payoff is supposedly orgasmic, if only because the foreplay is so amazingly long before you find out whether or not you're in, wink wink.
Today, to no one's surprise, we found out there are twelve other offers, and the seller is only going to bother hearing presentations from the top three. Too bad so sad, no little housie for Lucy. Sure, miracles could occur and we could get it, but I doubt it. Let's do the math. The house is ridiculously underpriced at $319K. Add one percent for each offer to figure up what to bid. That puts the price at roughly $357K, several thousand dollars over what we offered, which was our top dollar. Add one more item: the seller is an attorney. I know I'm prejudiced against attorneys (even though I really like Xeney and Dreama, who are attorneys, it doesn't stop me from being incredibly suspicious about attorneys in general, because all prejudices are general by nature -- the old, "Hey, some of my best friends are attorneys, really, it's just the others" kind of baloney), but to me this means there's no chance sentiment will play a role. Sentiment's all we've got going for us. I figure she'll take the highest amount she can. We're hosed.
Making an offer mainly consisted of reading endless reams of reports and statements, then signing, initialing, and dating everything in triplicate. The only interesting document was the Conventions, Covenants, and Restrictions (CC&R) which had the original 1934 lot sale listed, and specified who would be allowed to move into the Friendly Haven tract when it was built. White people, that's who, though persons of non-Caucasian ancestry were allowed to live in as staff. It was one of the first conditions. I was genuinely shocked to read it; I guess I've led a protected life. But of course, the next piece of paper we had to sign was an addendum to the CC&R, stating, in bright red 12-point type, that any conditions relating to race, color, religion, etc., were totally illegal by federal law and could not be enforced.
Then we signed a bunch more papers, and crossed our fingers, and went home where I made steak and baked potatos, and John built a fire, and the pets went through their usual shenanigans, and at the very last minute I received a heart-shaped box of chocolates.
So that's all right, then.
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