My Own Little Bag End

I’m rolling with the Hobbit references.

It’s my first time buying a house. I put in an offer on my little cottage, she put in a counter offer, I counter counter offered, she counter counter counter offered, now I’m counter counter counter counter offering. And waiting for my realtor, who’s on vacation in California, to call the seller’s realtor, who’s checking her mother-in-law into hospice in South Florida, to call the seller, who’s in backwoods Tennessee.

Can you tell I don’t do this much? Negotiations weird me out. I had a job at the front desk of a hotel and people always came in trying to get better deals than the posted rate. My manager was fine with it, anything to fill beds, but I almost always just said, “Sorry, that’s the price. Go further into town and there are other places.”

I think it ties in to my fear of masks and mascots. (Yes it’s a real fear. Masklophobia. Really.) There’s something the other person knows but won’t tell you. They’re hiding behind a mask or a mascot costume or a realtor or their own damn lying face. They have a price they’re willing to pay, and you have a price you’re willing to take, but you don’t ever tell each other the truth, you just play this little insane stupid lying game to each try and come away “winning.”

Truth. That’s another sticky one for me. I’m a little obsessed with the “truth.” I’m also a little obsessed with people using quotation marks when they really just want to emphasize something, which is grammatically horrifying. In these cases, the quotation marks stand. There is no real truth, it’s just what we call it.

My mom is a good story teller, and to tell a good story, you usually have to stretch the truth just a tad. I cannot stand when she involves me in it, like repeating something I clearly never said, never will say, never would say – but it does make the story better. Something in me just cannot stomach the idea of lies being out there in the world. But really, who gives a shit if I did or didn’t say, “Pass the mustard” or whatever makes her story listenable.

Okay I care, that’s who. It’s just another thing I’m trying to let go of – just let the dirty, nasty untruths go.


And bring on the real estate negotiations, even though the bottom line offer is the EXACT SAME DAMN PRICE, LADY. Ugh. I just want a  cozy tiny little Bag End of my own.



One thought on “My Own Little Bag End

  1. YES! Everything you just wrote, I agree with. Negotiations are ridiculous. One price. No haggles. DONE. Enough with the in between bullshit already. And my family? EXACTLY the same thing. Stretching truths all over the place. I don’t get it.

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