Movin'

I’m going to have to move house soon… again. My landlord has decided that he needs to sell the house. Admittedly it’s for a valid reason – his elderly parents are sick and he needs to buy a place close to them to look after them – but it doesn’t make it any easier on us.

So the drama at the moment is the stream of real estate people traipsing through our abode, accompanied by curious onlookers… potential buyers. I feel like we are part of an urban zoo.

“Come see the habitat of the reclusive ginger haired Androo”, says the tour guide, gently straightening their red sports jacket and flashing a smile to their wide-eyed entourage.

“Look how he casts off his old socks like a snake shedding his skin”.

A mother quietly draws her child a little closer and glances nervously around. “He’s not lurking here somewhere is he?”

There is quite a bit of pressure keeping the place perfectly clean all the time. We never know when we will get the phone call from the real estate people wanting access. They’ve been pretty good at giving a few hours notice… but often I’ve already left for work when the call comes. So every morning I make the rounds, making sure everything is put away, the dishes are done, the carpet is vacuumed.

As a thanks for us being so lovely to deal with the agent left us a gift the other day… a six pack of fancy expensive beer. I appreciate the gift, but really… is leaving beer for us the best way to ensure our continued good behaviour? They might bring the next lot of unsuspecting onlookers around to our humble zoo to find us in our underwear, singing the theme song to Spongebob.