Goodbye, Lawn
Farewell, you forgiving pain in the ass.
“I think we’ve made a terrible mistake,” my husband Jeff said to me as we drove the few short blocks between our university apartment and our vacant off-campus house. We were going over to remove a few remaining items in the garage and to mow the lawn one last time before transitioning ownership to strangers the next day.
“Oh thank god I’ve been feeling the same way,“ I said with a rush of unbridled relief. I stopped at the red light and turned to my husband of twenty-four years. We fixed each other with steely eyes and blurted our truth:
“We shouldn’t have sold the house.” (me)
“We should have listed it for more.” (him)
I was, of course, speaking out of fear and uncertainty- the twins from hell who regularly haunted my disaster fetish fever dreams at night. The evil sibs had been on hiatus briefly after our son’s college search had mercifully concluded a week before, but now on the eve of our house sale closing, they were back. Tra-la-la!
“Oh come on. It’s going to be fine,” Jeff said as the light turned green, and we resumed course. I neither agreed nor disagreed.
Selling the house out from under a perfectly good renter after three years wasn’t a crazy thing to do in this frenzied market. Doing so with a whole year in which…
