Wherein I Bitch...

My friend Megan is, indeed, the luckiest bitch in the world.  You see, she wanted a new house, and found one, and then a neighborhood old man just knocked on her door and wanted to buy her house.  No realtor, no open house, none of that. I hate her.

Our house is listed currently, which means I have to keep it at least 80% "show room" ready all the time.  Ha. Ha.  What an exercise in futility.  I have two children and 3 pets.  Regardless, I do try as hard as I can to keep it tidy enough that if I get a call for a showing, I can throw clutter in a laundry basket, load up the troops, and get the hell out in plenty of time. Febreeze? It's a wonderful thing.

But you know what? I am getting tired of this shit.  I hate that I have to make it look like nobody lives here. Dude, we LIVE here.  It's hard to explain to the kids why I don't want to play with their 5000 piece bead set, or truck out the Moon Sand (that shit is the devil, btw).  Tomorrow we have a realtor open house, where area realtors come over and eat at our house, look around, and then hopefully tell all of their clients that my house is the best one in the entire world and you need to go buy it RIGHT THIS INSTANT.

Someone buy this house before I lose my mind. I'm starting to dream of cleaning all of the things, and I cringe every time my kids say "uh-oh."  And, we are dangerously low on Febreeze.