Yesterday Alexe and I spent the morning walking around the grounds of what could have been our dream farm down here. 30 acres, old two story farmhouse, several out buildings, and very quiet. There were lots of problems with it: for starters it wasn't for sale. We had our eye on it through the spring and summer, but our plans to move down South didn't solidify until after it had sold. So we were propositioning a gentleman who had bought it three months ago, and since had started a massive renovation. I tracked him down through the assessors office, he hadn't returned our calls. So I called a real estate agent who had been showing it over the summer and asked him to make contact. Lesson number 1: people working on commission often have too much investment in their own interests to be pleasant additions to most anything. This fellow decided to insist on a 4% cut form the current owner, which immediately made any offer we came up with less inviting. That 4% was for a phone call and a Saturday morning walk. Grr.
Anyway, we liked it, even though it was mostly gutted, had no kitchen, and there was an expansive view of the ground from the front door looking in.
We offered too much. And luckily were rejected. But there was a few hours between those two events, and my stomach churned through them all. I've discovered I have instant buyer's regret. I discover this every few years.
We did end up purchasing a new television last week. Alexe saw a sale at Sears, and we scooted over to have a look after work. We bought it, and in the time it took to get it out to the car, I was close to nauseous. So we crossed town to compare prices at a different store, and went home with 2 televisions. Set them up side by side, fiddled for a while, and returned the one we bought first.
I was still considering returning the one we kept, but this morning I mistakenly put the receipt in the collection plate. I thought it might be a sign.
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