We're selling our house. I don't want to talk about it...not because I'm superstitious, but because the whole process is anxiety-producing and I have enough anxiety already. Besides, Cecily and I talk about it every day.
But what has surprised me about the process is this nearly hysterical fetishism with appearance. Various people...including friends, realty professionals, and total strangers...have offered advice on how to pimp (they said "spruce up") our house. These have included paint-and-patch work, a very thorough cleaning, buying floral arrangements...all of which I've found reasonable. However, today a total stranger told me to "get rid of the couch on the porch." I reminded her that "it's not a couch...it's a glider. It swings, it's comfortable, and we like it." Granted, I'm a little sensitive about the fact that literally every piece of furniture in our house was either donated or trash-picked. But frankly, why should that matter to a home buyer? We're taking it with us...THEY won't have to deal with our Ralph Kramden dining set or Barnes & Noble easy chairs. They can make the whole place look like an Ikea catalog if they want. I don't care. I'll be gone.
What steams me is this expectation that the house not look lived-in, even tho we're living in it. I'd like to tell folks, "I'm sorry if you don't like our curtains, but they have nothing whatever to do with how YOUR curtains will look in this house." But that would be rude. So, what I do instead is to take the dog for a walk while prospective buyers wince and gag at our choice of furnishings. It was also suggested that we put a lot of our stuff in storage until the move. That way buyers could see the place virtually empty and thus better envision their stuff in our rooms. OK, but that costs over $500, and I'm really not sure it's worth it. Frankly, if someone is going to dismiss the house because it has a glider, wait till they see the 1940 furnace.
OK, rant over. But you see what I mean...it's anxiety-producing.
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So, now on to what I really want to talk about: self-image.
Why is it, we worry so much about appearance, and so little about character? For instance, no woman has ever said, "Do I look selfish in this blouse?" or "Does this skirt make me look rude?" Thanks to advertising and fashion magazines, most are too worried about the dimensions of their hips. Men, tho also vain about body image, actually have a stranger problem....they actually WANT to look selfish and rude. Remember the big umbrellas of the 1980s? The ones that were more weapon than rain gear? Those things basically said, "I deserve more personal space than you do, so get out of my way." Now that's a nice vibe to put out there. Or worse, it's an admission that they have a tiny winky. And what about the mid-life-crisis sports car, replete with teenage mistress. To me, that says, "I'm a shallow materialist who fears death more than most...and by the way I'm a shitty husband too." And this is supposed to be a GOOD thing. These slimebags are PROUD of it.
I'll never understand people.
Me? I love my wife and have a reasonably sized umbrella, and I'm comfortable with that.
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So, tomorrow more folks are going to see the house, complete with its 1940 furnace, its 1963 glider, and its 1935 doorbell. And either they'll love it or hate it. Whatever the result, I hope at least one will notice the sunny view, the wide tree-lined street, the pleasant yards, and the friendly neighbors. Someone who knows the difference between a house and a home.
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Slang of the day: dinkum: genuine, honest, reliable, fair.
