I’ll spare you the plot summary of the weekend because, frankly, I wrote a big, long post and then the browser freaked out and I lost it all. Let’s cut the BS and get straight to the issue at hand: the house, part III.
I went back for a more detailed look at the house in question. Jonathan, with his eye for…well, bothering to look in the attic, went with me and he found some things that I never would have thought to look for. I found a bunch of little, nitpicky things. I thought long and hard. I just can’t do it.
I like the place when I’m standing in it, but then I think about all of the little, incredibly half-assed things that the renovators did, and it makes me feel like they didn’t have any pride in their work. If they half-assed the doors jambs and kitchen cabinets, they may also have half-assed the wiring or plumbing. Frankly, I don’t want to get to the stage when I pay a house inspector 300 bucks, only to find out that everything was done in the cheapest possible way. I don’t want to have to present the seller with a list of “here’s what you have to do” and then have to police them to make sure they don’t half-ass the fixes. I like the place when I’m in it, but my gut says “this will be drama and you should walk away.”
So that’s what I’m doing.
Real Estate Lady is probably going to want to set me on fire, since this house really is nice. It’s one of the nicest ones I’ve seen. I just don’t feel it. I smell drama, and my drama sensors are surprisingly good.
It’s like going on a first date with a guy who seems nice, has a job, and doesn’t live in his mom’s basement…but he stares at you intensely when he talks to you. It’s not proof that he’s got bodies stashed in his crawl space, but it doesn’t exactly make you want a second date, either. It’s like going in for a major haircut and getting a stylist who interrupts you. That person is about to cut 20 inches off of your hair and isn’t listening to what you want. Get out of the chair and leave.