Well, this is it. The last twenty-five years of my life packed into multiple moving boxes, awaiting their new home. For the past eight weeks, I’ve sacrificed blood, sweat, and tears to ensure this beauty sold. Spending more time on my knees than a lady should, I’m getting down and dirty scrubbing baseboards, scouring ovens, and exhuming spider graveyards. It’s been eons since these orifices were spit-shined.
Taking care of business like a boss means delegating some of the grunt work. Numerous dump runs (thank you Rich and Lisa), handyman help (gracias Keith), and massive donation pickups enabled me to stay on track. Removing all personal effects and tchotchkes for the sake of home staging was compliments of Terry S. It took a village and a vineyard, and I’m forever grateful for both!
Once listed, there was an overwhelming amount of interest right out the gate. The offers poured in immediately, enough to be capped after two days. Exhilarated, my realtor extraordinaire/friend Kari-Ann and I reviewed our options with giddy delight. Families gave heartfelt pitches, vowing to love the house as much as we did. A seduction I would’ve loved to entertain, but let’s be real, money talks.
The first big-dick-energy offer came with no conditions, making it even sexier. After signing the documents and securing a deposit, fluttery nerves kicked in awaiting financing. My gut instinct told me this ship was taking on water. Confirmation the deal had capsized came late one Friday night. Donning a life jacket, we floated onto the next offer, finalizing a sale two hours later. I have to admit, a bit of the magic was lost in the surging waves of emotion.
Relocating from a family home in the burbs to a charming loft in a bustling metropolis leaves me with zero trepidation. I’m excited to do a full 180 into my next chapter. This girl is moving from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Stay tuned for newfangled senior sex and the city adventures!
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