Here’s the soap opera tale of the sale of our house. When the traveling post dude nailed the sign into our front lawn, never did I imagine the drama that would unfold these past two weeks.

We listed on a Wednesday, and by Saturday, we had our first offer. The Cheap Buyers from Hell, as they came to be known, spent SIX HOURS nickel and dime-ing us, as my father would say. Their agent even said he was embarrassed by how his clients were acting, only coming up $1,000 each sign back. We ended up at the exact price our agent thought we would get, which was above the average selling price in our neighbourhood.

We were happy with selling so quickly. But all along, I was uneasy with TCBFH. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about them, but I was never jumping for joy over the sale. Part of it was how stingy they were — the buyers own a local business, and didn’t need any financing to purchase, but refused to come up even $500. And who walks away from a deal over $500? We had to take it. I felt like they were always in control, even though we had what they wanted.

The home inspection happened five days later, on Thursday. We should have suspected something fishy right away when it only took 45 minutes (our new house took three hours).

Turns out the home inspector, although licensed, was a friend of the purchasers. His inspection report — now the laughing stock of our agent’s office — requested earth shattering, deal breaking changes such as planting grass, fixing a leaky faucet and a missing furnace vent.

(If you’ve ever gone through a home inspection, you know it’s for finding tangible, serious, structural problems such as water damage, foundation shifting and mould. Not bare ground underneath a tree.)

But what killed the deal were three windows. TCBFH wanted them to open. The builders of our house bolted them shut, didn’t install the metal slides for them to open on — our neighbour’s windows are identical. Despite telling TCBFH this, they wanted us to spend thousands replacing windows that weren’t broken to begin with.

We said no. TCBFH held us hostage for 24 hours before signing a release form so we could get the house back on the market just in time for the weekend. The purchasers were apparently screaming and yelling and were so degrading to their agent that the agent refused to speak with them until Friday morning. Agent said he’d never do business with them again, that they were an embarrassment to the homeland that the three shared.

Thank the ever loving frickin frick Those People did not step foot in my house again. I would have felt the memories here desecrated. At least in the end we had the power, called their bluff, and won.

Friday at 5 p.m., the house was back on the market. Clean house again. Hide toys again. After a flurry of showings the next day plus an open house Sunday afternoon, we had a seller’s wish come true: two offers at once, what you and I call a bidding war and what agents refer to as multiple representation.

We got more than our asking price. We got our closing date. We got a wonderful buyer. We were thrilled.

Fast forward three days later to Wednesday night. The home inspection gets canceled. Our buyer is having financing problems. She has until Thursday at 5 p.m. to get things sorted out, or our house sale falls through and our dream home purchase dies right along with it.

Cue panic. Cue stress. Cue more gray hair and higher blood pressure. It’s a repeat of the week before.

And when did the approval waiver spit out of our agent’s fax machine? 4:58 p.m. yesterday. Two minutes to spare.

Our house is sold. Our new house is bought. It’s done. And I’ve had to promise Eric in blood that we will never move again.

Possibly related posts:

2. Brady is (finally!) here
3. Finally, the hoodie is on!
4. Tangent
5. Those people with lots of babies are selling their stuff again!