When I put my house on the market, I plan to concoct clever language to set it apart from all the other hip roof colonials offered for sale. Beds and baths? Quiet little street? That’s for sellers with no imagination or guts.
“Party Central!” will be my opening salvo. “Dude, check it. Twelve-hundred bottle wine cellar. Hot tub. Cold Tub. We got tubs up the yin-yang.”
Am I being totally honest? No. On the other hand, who really knows the definition of “up the yin-yang”?
“Roof Deck. Tiki bar. Master suite with co-bidets. Double ovens? Don’t kid yourself. We got quadruple ovens. Next door neighbor who'll take out your trash and do your taxes free of charge (‘I find it relaxing’ he says). Old farm across the street soon to be converted to conservation land (or, possiby, a skateboard park).”
I will demand see the underlying financials of the buyer, the buyer’s spouse, the buyer’s lover, and the parents of all these people, just because I want to pry. Finally, I will require that all offers include a 2,000 word essay explaining each buyer’s emotional connection to my abode.
All offers due in 15 minutes.