It’s another uptown Saturday night. My Guy and I are both wondering why we have headaches and are so tired. Gee … surely it has nothing to do with the fact we’ve been slaving away to stage our houses for the last, like, 17 weeks, right? Right?
My house has been on the market for 36 whole hours and there have been exactly zero showings. Don’t people know that my house has never been this clean-ish ever? And that the clean-ish-ness alone is worth scheduling an appointment and probably even making an offer? An offer over the asking price?
I have been tweaking things around the house a bit … I touched up a bit of paint in between running errands and taking a two-hour nap. And now? Now, I’m camped out on the couch with the doxies, feeling rather lame. Except that instead of watching WE: Television for Women, I’m watching a Foo Fighters concert. So, not totally lame.
Except that I just realized that one of Lil’ Frankfurter’s black ears is perfectly rimmed in white paint. He looks vaguely like Cruella de Vil. I am mother of the year. Or ear. Whatever.