Monday, March 15, 2010

Suburbs of Our Discontent

Happy Ides of March, everyone! It's been a humdinger of a one for us here, what with our State of Emergency and all. We've had sinkholes on the Green Line, sewage dumps in Boston harbor, and dams being built to keep the Kenmore T- stop from flooding. I heard on NPR that some guy saw a fish swimming by on one of the platforms.

But on to my petty bourgeois problems—like how I'm supposed to sell my house when the torrential rains are keeping people away from Open Houses. Now that's tragic.

Not that I relish the thought of strangers fingering through my stuff and drinking my cough medicine. Apparently this happens pretty regularly. I knew I had to hide the prescription drugs, but the Formula 44D? Who knew?

Saturday night (twelve hours before our first Open House) we were over at a friend's house, and he was kind enough to tell us about a scam going on in his tony neck of the woods. There's a couple that likes to go around posing as potential home buyers so that they can have sex in unsuspecting sellers' beds. And then they leave the condom. Thanks for that story.

The next day as I was shoving the kids into the car, screaming "Everyone shut up so that people don't think freaks live here!" a nice young couple showed up and sashayed right on in to my nice clean home. I spent the next two hours imagining all of the unspeakable acts they were performing in my perfectly staged bedroom.

I'll never know what happened during those two hours' traffic, but at least they didn't get their hands on my Tylenol with codeine.

1 comment:

  1. I'd believe that people would look through the medicine cabinet. But the part about having sex has got to be an urban myth! I've never been to an Open House in which the realtor was paying so little attention that that could happen.
    But a good plot device -- Shakespeare certainly had some that strained credulity.