The night of the dinner party, aka, the night we lost THE house, I spent the night locked in a dream about the house and the Toronto couple who had managed to scoop it up. I floated around, watching from my high vantage point, a ghostly presence clutching her heart in pain as the new homeowners went through the house saying things like, "Pocket doors? Oh God, those HAVE to go! My goodness, this walnut inlay in heinous! And this tile! What was she thinking?"
"No, no! It’s so lovely the way it is!" I kept shouting, but of course they could not hear me.
At 3:30 am I roused myself from the torture of my subconcious and forced myself to think of something else as I went back to sleep. Obviously, I spent most of Monday heartbroken, sulking and moaning about it to whoever would at least pretend to be interested. I tried to shield myself from the little glimmer of hope I still felt.
Michelle, our agent in Hamilton, called last night while we were consoling ourselves with a game of Mario Karts to say the other couple’s deal had died. They had failed to arrange their home inspection within the time period they themselves had specified. We pulled together a new offer with Michelle this afternoon and tonight we have a new house.