Admitting defeat

We have finally simply admitted defeat in this whole apartment selling fiasco and today I had the very last visits. I suppose, technically, one of the people who visited today could make an offer that is just too good to refuse and then it would just be the beginning of an entirely different sort of hell. Yeah, well, I am a bit cynical after several months of pointless visits by stupid people who have nothing better to do with their time than visit apartments that apparently have absolute no correlation to what they are actually looking to buy. I think now is a good time to stop, before I loose complete faith in mankind. Honestly, my patience has been pushed to its limits, and remember, I live with a toddler so that is saying something.

Today, I am proud to say that I didn't drive myself to the edge of exhaustion by cleaning the house like a woman possessed. The idea of people poking around my house with a critical eye, examining the dust bunnies in the corners or the toppling pile of magazines on my nightstand is like fingernails on a chalkboard for me. I cannot stand the idea. Today, I was just too damn PMS-y to give a shit and while 90% of the house looked just fine, I didn't move a thing off the dining room table where Ella and I have our projects spread out (I am still working on Brazil plans and a photo album from our last holiday; Ella is perfecting the art of stamping, cutting and glue-ing. Or maybe its the art of creating the largest mess possible... its a tough call.)

The first visitor was a 50-something witch, nothing but thick make-up and bad manners. She is exactly why I am fed up with the whole situation. She didn't even acknowledge the presence of Ella and I and strolled around the apartment bitching about everything and then opening ever cupboard and drawer she fancied. I was inches from tossing her out on her ass when Ella started shouting "Bye-bye! Bye-bye!" She looked surprised as I joined in, "Bye-bye then! Au revoir! Au revoir! (and in a only slightly lower voice) Degage!"

The second visit was by a family that had been here two weeks ago. I really hope that they don't make an offer because we'll have to say no and I feel bad having had them come here twice if we had no intention of selling. But really this is all B's fault because we said ages ago, the deadline for the sale was October 1st. We discussed it, there was no coercion on either side. The decision was made. I moved on to the next thing and if there is one thing that I hate, its changing my mind for no reason. Why he didn't just pass the message on to the agent, I don't know. But there you go. Does this mean I am turning into one of these Parisian assholes who is just rude for the sake of being rude? I have a niggling suspicion that I am sliding into dangerous territory here.

But I can defend myself a little bit. As soon as we said the apartment sale was off the table, B started talking about re-doing the kitchen. He absolutely wants to do the work we talked about last year, knocking out a wall and relocating the bedroom door, replacing all the cabinets and appliances, and replacing the parquet in the house. Sounds a bit like a nightmare to me but I agreed that if we were going to stay, we might as well do the work now and enjoy it as long as possible. So he's had me running all over Paris making appointments with different cuisinistes. We've even gotten into fights already about this project so if we are arguing about details like whether or not we need a double wide refrigerater with a special wine storage unit (the answer, according to me, is No.) then surely I thought we had settled the issue of whether or not to move. Aie aie aie. I hate feeling like our plans are all in the air.

So, with big questions like that spinning around in my head and disturbing my sleep, its no wonder that I haven't got a clue what day it is. On Tuesday night, I decided that I would go to knitting and when B got home I grabbed my bag and dashed out of the house. I went to the meeting point and couldn't see anyone I knew so I sat down with a coffee and started knitting, figuring that other knitters would see me and come over. After a half hour, I got up and did a tour around the area, and still didn't see any other knitters so I decided to leave. I got home and only then did I realize that the reason I didn't see anyone else from the knitting group was because knitting was on Wednesday.

In the end, it wasn't a waste of time because I managed to get a serious ego boost. When I first sat down, I was sort of in the sightline of a guy who was sitting at a table for two and clearly waiting for someone. I didn't think he was "checking me out" but maybe I've spent so many nights sitting on the sofa in my jimjams that I forgot what it feels like. This guy's girlfriend comes back to the table and immediately snaps her head around to look at me. Then she starts angrily whispering something at him, to which he replies, quite loudly, "I'm not married! I can do what I want! There's nothing the matter with..." So I gathered that she thought he was staring at me, and I decided that the safest bet for me was to keep my head down and stay out of it. As I reached for my coffee, I caught the guy's eye- he was still looking at me- and I quickly turned back to my knitting. Good thing, because the girlfriend jumps up and grabs her coat and snaps something at the guy as she walks out of the cafe. He follows and I am happy to see the back of them both. Seriously, I once got beat up by somebody's jealous girlfriend despite my complete innocence in the situation, but we were like 15 years-old and I considered it a lesson learned. Even armed with a sturdy pair of needles, I didn't feel like getting into with that chick but deep down it was a bit gratifying to be sitting there in almost no make-up, in a pony tail, wearing a t-shirt with a stain on it and still be able to incite such lust. OK, so maybe I'm kind of blowing things up a bit. An old married woman has got to get her kicks where she can.

But wait- maybe I was exuding some sort of super-pheremones that night. On my way home on the metro I had parked myself in the corner and gotten out my knitting again, not paying any attention to the other travellers in the car. I got off at my stop and as I was passing through the gates with a crowd of people, someone comes rushing towards me. A tall and not bad looking guy came up to me and said, "Excusez-moi!" I thought he was going to ask for directions so I stopped, but then he came up quite closely and started speaking really rapidly in a low voice so immediately I got a bit nervous and started backing away. Finally I realized that he was telling me that he thought I was ravissante and wondered if I would possibly consider giving him my number and, and- I cut him off and told him as nicely as I could that I was married with a child so not very disponible. I felt quite bad about it actually. I think that it would be the most romantic thing to meet the love of your life that way- what a great story for your grandkids! Anyways, it wasn't his lucky night.

Wasn't really mine either. As I came out of the metro, I realized that the light rain from an hour early had turned into a downpour and there I was with no umbrella. I ran home as quickly as I could but got drenched. Still, you would have thought that my dear husband, when presented with my two stories demonstrating the evidence of my obvious feminine charms, would have a better response than an incredulous, "Really? Oh, well, I guess maybe you just look like that because you got rained on."Oh, that B, such a charmer. Sheesh.