Renting, it's kind of like dating, or at least I imagine that it is. Lucky for me I have not dated in many, many, many years. I have never dated as a true adult, but I envision finding renters has some very real similarities. It is the whole, this is who I am... do you like me? Do we fit, scenario.This is our home. There isn't much more personal than your home. If people don't like your home- you have to start to wonder, is there something wrong with it? Is there something deficient in me? I can't take this rejection.
So far we have had a variety of home suitors stop by for a look. The first potentials described themselves as a "young professional couple, with no kids". They walked through the house, I felt hopeful, I did my sales pitch-"take a look at the walk in closet! You just don't get that in this neighborhood", but as they walked out the woman told me "wish we had a family to fill all those bedrooms". Strike One. Another upbeat guy came over a couple of days later. He was a bartender at The Capital Grill, and his wife is a student. They planned to share the home with his best buddy, another bartender from the restaurant. He looked at the way our house was laid out and quickly decided that unless his buddy wanted to live in the dungeon that is the basement, he would be awfully close to the marital bedroom, leaving every opportunity for an invasion of privacy. Strike Two.
I was very hopeful when a gentlemen called me and informed me he and his family were relocating from Minnesota. Finally a family! My heart dropped when he told me was moving from Coon Rapids-that gave me a hint that they were suburban folks. I told him right away that this was an urban neighborhood, but he assured me he was still interested. He showed up, toured the space in about 3 minutes and headed for the door. I asked him what other neighborhoods he was considering and he answered-Parker & Highland's Ranch. Well there you have it. I am quite sure he left unimpressed with my large kitchen, and instead was disgusted by the "charm" of the home. Strike Three.
Today we had three bachelors spin through the house, and left with the "will call you" cliche. This place just doesn't have bachelor pad written on it does it?
Sigh. There are no four strikes in baseball, but we will have to keep trying.