foul ball

Well, we all went back to the house on Saturday to take another look at it, and finalize a few things with the real estate agent.

The neighborhood had a much different feel, this time. On Friday, everyone was at work, so there were no cars or people about, as we entered the development or searched for the house. Not so on Saturday. I bet the agent wishes she had waited until Monday to meet us, because we withdrew our offer, based on what we saw.

While the homes looked very well taken care of, and the neighborhood was full of trees and neat little lawns, the driveways were (quite unfortunately) filled with dirty, broken-down pickup trucks, and dusty, old firebirds. When we entered the house, I had to turn around, immediately, and walk back out, as the deceased-owner's emaciated, dirty-looking son was smoking like a chimney inside, and I didn't quit smoking all those many months ago, just so someone else could expose my child to his second hand smoke.

So, I walked Zane around the property, ending up right where we started, up front, in the driveway. While I was standing there, with my child, I watched intently, as a skanky twenty-something drove up in her loud, low-riding junker, parked at the curb of "my house" and waited, nervously, while chewing her finger nails. About a minute later, an equally skanky young man drove up in a rusting, bumpersticker-ed pickup. He rolled to a stop, just long enough to take her money and hand her a small package through the window. He then drove away, all without saying a word. Soon after, she left as well.

I went inside, found my husband and the agent, and explained that it was time to go home, and we would not be purchasing this particular home.

Duane was SO glad to hear it. The agent, not so much.