That is the number of houses on which we have lost the bid or had to relinquish the offer due to serious problems uncovered at the inspection. Five times I have made up my mind to figure out how to make the best out of a less-than-fantastic situation. Five times I have begun to make plans--things I could do to make the house work, bring charm and otherwise dish out that always needed TLC. Five times I've waited on pins and needles, trying not to get my hopes up and failing, sometimes over the course of several days, as I wait for the gal at the desk at the bank to determine the future of my family. Four times I pulled myself up from my bootstraps and pulled out my good attitude and optimism.
After the fifth loss, I'm bitter and frustrated and emotionally exhausted.
I understand Mrs. Bennet's frequent proclamation of "Oh, my poor nerves!"
I want to put on a frilly robe and sit by a fire tended by someone else and cry into my delicate handkerchief all day. But I can't; I can't afford one thing on that list. Well, except the tears. I produce those in abundance.
Of course, if it was just that we couldn't find a house, I would probably be managing better, but there is more.
The house that we are selling, the one on which we are about to close, was just discovered to have termites. Termites?? Really? In a town that is "too cold" to have termites? Honestly, I should have known. Not because there was ever any sign of termites (apparently they are under the front porch), but because this week would be the week to have the most unexpected thing occur. I had no use for that $1200 anyway.
And, to top it off, there are these damn little pregnant women all over the place.
Please excuse me while I go bawl in my old nightgown and blow into a cheap generic Kleenex.
I'm sorry about the swears. I am currently indulging an impure desire to curse.