Today’s Juneathon activity consisted of chasing after dashed hopes.
The backstory: all winter the Mister and I have contemplated moving. Originally to southern Cali where winters aren’t quite as rough, but then we got real and settled for anything within a five mile radius. Our overall plan was to sell our home and buy a two-family, someplace where we could live now but rent out further on down the road when we were truly empty-nesters.
Fast forward to May 2015: We found a home we really liked. One that was built as a two family, instead of a single-family that had been chunkily carved up. To make our offer stronger, within 3 weeks we purged, painted, and staged our home, hosted an open house and got a very nice offer two days later. We accepted, and then quickly pounced on the dream house last week.
Other people pounced too. So many that the seller set a Thursday noon “last and best” deadline for bids. Our realtor let us know we were in the running. Then the deadline was extended to Friday noon for “last and best.” We re-bid, higher. Then we were told our offer was the winning offer, but the 2nd place offer had better contingencies. We met those contingencies. Late Friday evening, our bid was chosen.
Of course we spent all weekend second-guessing ourselves, but by Sunday, the excitement had taken over. My plan for today was to run (no, not Juneathon style, but rather in a car) to the lawyers with our deposit check.
And then my phone rang. My realtor. With the news that the 2nd place bidder had re-submitted their offer with some conditions that were generous to the seller and more money. What did we want to do? The conditions seemed fair. The money didn’t. And the fact that the two days late bid was actually accepted by the realtor and shared with the seller stunk to high heaven.
I spent the afternoon chasing our dream, and re-wrote our offer (being generous with so-called conditions that outside of the world of real estate would be common sense, as in “no, I will not hold the seller liable for a missing door knob.”) and then attached a note that used the word “integrity” more than once. I figured go big or go home. If I couldn’t shame the seller into honoring his word (and the real estate agent into acting in good faith according to the law), then we didn’t need this property.
Hopes dashed, dreams chased.
At 4:45pm, word came down:
WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER!
The anxiety made me forego my running club’s pub run. Instead, I will celebrate Juneathon-style with squats. But right now, I just want a cold beer.