You know when things are impeccably timed and result in the most serendipitous events? For example, you walk out of a change room in a shop to swop a shirt that was on the wrong hanger displaying an incorrect size and you bump into a friend you haven’t seen since you left school 20 years ago as she steps backwards out of her change room to get a better look at her jeans? Well, we just had a moment that was the opposite of that. So you could say it aserendipitous.
Our house is on the market and, as I explained in an earlier post, the business model of the estate agency we’re using involves us paying a flat fee for commission and then we show the house ourselves. So, tonight was a show night and we had four people scheduled to arrive at 15 minute intervals.
The first couple turned out to be Seth Rogan (well, it could have been!) and his wife. I know! We were as surprised as you are. My husband greeted them and escorted them in through the front gate while I pretended I wasn’t there. The plan had been for me and the littles to have a picnic supper on the lawn watching Full House while strangers walked around our house. Because things with children don’t ever (ever ever) go as planned, that didn’t happen. The picnic ended when Seth arrived. There I was left watching Full House with two mostly untouched bowls of macaroni cheese, a dog with halitosis, and a couple of mildly suspicious weaver birds. The children promptly ran into the house to follow our guests around from room to room, like two curious chihuahuas.
We had four sets of people come to judge our living arrangements. The chihuahuas frolicked and minced, minced and frolicked while I tried to look simultaneously busy and invisible in the garden. By the time viewer number four’s arrival was imminent, the boy child (who has had a stomach bug) decided he’d had enough and went to pick daisies by the front door. I saw him stomping around on something wet-looking that, on closer inspection, turned out to be his own poo. It had exploded from his nappy like an angry swamp monster and run all the way down his legs. As I turned to alert my husband of the code brown, our last viewer pulled up to the gate. Husband grabbed boy and sprinted to the bottom of the garden, holding him with arms out stretched and a look of determination on his green-tinged face. I leaped inside and grabbed a small plastic cup, the first container I could find, which in hindsight wasn’t very effective, filled it up and tried to wash the steaming puddle of poo off the path and front-door step!
The last viewer wasn’t particularly interested in our house, which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that as she walked into our garden the first thing she saw was me changing a nappy that was so befouled my eyes were watering.
Speaking of watering eyes… the day came to a close with our five-year-old daughter pouring peppermint essential oil all over the bathroom floor and smearing it in her eyes. That led to a fun 45 minutes or so of her howling and lowing like an injured cow. You absolutely cannot make this stuff up.