Wifey Poo, The Super Finder — Sept. 26, 2021

I’m all about lists. I love making them. I love crossing things off on them. And it really annoys me when things I wanted to get done on a list don’t get done. I came into today with a lot of things left on my weekend to-do list. Rather than end the day annoyed, I exercised my editorial discretion and revised the list. Gone were the things involving electricity, including installing a Nest thermostat and Ring doorbell in my pursuit of The Smart Home of the Future that Epcot promised me when I was, like, 10. What remained was manual labor. Move the firewood. Pressure wash under the deck. Replace light bulbs to ones that actually, ya know, light up a room.

And find the motherflippin’ milk frother thingy for my cappuccino machine.

I have moved often enough to know that things fall into a different dimension in transit from Point A to Point B. I’m sure these things have a grand time with socks lost in the dryer vortex. This move, the first thing to turn up missing was the container milk goes in when a person like, say, me wants to make a great Italian hot beverage while he’s working from home.

I found the cappuccino machine. I found the espresso. I found the power cord. I had every damn thing to make a cappuccino except the damn milk frother thingy. A wise person might think the milk frother thingy would be with all the other cappuccino accoutrements, but wise men aren’t the group of 19-year-olds (Boy The Elder being one of them) who packed all our stuff.

Now, I searched for this thing. I unpacked box after box labeled “dining room,” the previous home of the cappuccino maker. No milk frother thingy. When I reported this to Wifey Poo, she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

You see, I’m not the best at finding things. I am the guy who opens the refrigerator looking for such-and-such and says “Honey! We’re out of such-and-such!” before Wifey Poo comes over and grabs the such-and-such that magically appeared right in front of my face. Wifey Poo and I have been married long enough to know which buttons not to push, and sometimes we actually choose not to push them. So when she quietly disappeared downstairs during halftime of the Chiefs game, I didn’t know exactly what she was doing.

You know where this is going.

She came upstairs 10 minutes later with the damn milk frother thingy.

To be fair! It was not in any box labeled “dining room.” It wasn’t even in a box. It was inside a cooler for some damn reason BTE could not explain, and she found it only because she was moving the cooler to get to another possible location for it when she felt something move inside.

Still, this leads to…

The ‘Don’t Blame Me, I Didn’t Say It’ of the Day.

‘Mom should change her name to The Finder of That Which Cannot Be Found.’

Boy The Younger

I Am Strongly Not Fond of My Realtor

We close on Old House tomorrow. The buyers sign at 9 a.m. We sign at 1 p.m. Thursday, we discovered that the furniture and other stuff that made our house look like we wish we would have made Old House look like all along had not been removed by the staging company. Realtor Guy convinced me staging the house added value that would more than be recouped in the sale price, and on that he might be right, though of course there’s no way to prove it. So I texted Realtor Guy on Thursday to make sure the stuff was gone by Monday. He assured me it would be.

Today when we went over to load up our cars with firewood, I popped my head in and found all that cool stuff still there. I texted Realtor Guy again. Four hours later, he texted back to say that the staging company could not get there before the closing and that he was working with the buyer agent to come up with a plan.


Now, to be fair, I’m still smarting because this idiot’s “advice” cost me more than $20,000, and I don’t think he has any plans to pay restoration. So I told him that if the stager couldn’t get the stuff out of there, he better have a plan to get it out of there himself before 9 a.m. or I was going to pile it up in the woods.

Two hours later, he texted back to tell me the stager found some wiggle room in her team’s schedule and the stuff would be gone Monday morning.

And he could have left it there.

But he didn’t.

“I hope this restores your faith in my resolve.”

Excuse me? Your resolve? You did exactly nothing until I got pissed at you for putting my closing in jeopardy. It wasn’t like you were fighting through some tough negotiations to get me, oh, an extra $20,000 or something.

I did not respond.

If you’re looking for a Realtor not to choose in this area, you’ll be able to read my review on Google, Zillow, Yelp, etc. etc. etc. tomorrow as soon as I have money in hand and never have to deal with this dope again.

Today’s Reasons to Keep Living.

  1. We’ll be debt-free again this week!
  2. I’ve got all this firewood here now, so I’ve got to stick around for some colder weather to burn it.
  3. I made plans today to go to Mizzou this coming Friday night for Dads Weekend with BTE and to watch the football team lose to Tennessee.

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