I Am Over It I Swear

Dear @#$#@^% Developers,
I should have known when I first met you and your breath smelled like the equivalent of a steaming pile of crap and your teeth were covered with a distracting biofilm, that something wasn’t quite right. It is you, my dirty-clothed developer-man friend who has screwed me over. You may have thought no one saw you making shadow puppets on my realtor’s face, but I did. I saw your flaccid fingers flapping. We may have had a sweet score on your house, but in the end I am glad I am not living in the comfy confines of a house built by you and your cantankerous faced friend

Did you think it was ok to string us along for a month? We know what happened. We know you got a better offer or were enticed with Guinness or sex. It doesn’t matter that we planned Christmas, New Years, dinner parties and bbq’s on our rooftop deck. I had a great place planned for all of my 10 bags of Cheddar Flavored “Potato Crisps” and my Shredded Spoonfuls. My husband was thrilled with the closet space and the lighting in the bathroom was perfect for trimming his pesky nose hairs. My son was looking forward to christening the house with his hot cocoa and playing Scay guy movie 100 times over in the lower level. We all were looking forward to watching Scay guy movie in the lower level, rolling around and embracing the radiant heat floors. It was going to be a blinking good time.

But don’t worry about us, douchenugget. We gave up several chances at other properties and held our child back from going to the school of our choice. Now we (Hans) will continue to take the dogs down the elevator and out for a poop walk four times a day. It is ok that my piles of crafts, snacks and guest bedding is making its way out into the hallway, my husband’s Time magazines and Smithsonians are taking over the bedroom and our bags of donation clothes have inhibited our use of the half bath. I do however enjoy our lakeview being blocked by train tables and a giant stuffed chinchilla. We have space-o-plenty!! I also have a strong predilection for my 3-foot by 3-inch parking spot and all of the mammoth pillars in the parking garage that I scrape my car on daily. Is it wrong that in the cockles of my heart I want for your rotting teeth to fall out and get stuck in a cranny of the house so the new owners will go crazy trying to figure out what the hell that putrid smell is?

Listen up Renegade, if you see a toxic cloud hovering over your house, it wasn’t my neighbor. If you see a giant stuffed chinchilla set a blaze in the front yard, it wasn’t my two year old; we don’t allow him to play with fire- and when you are scraping the dog shit from the doozy crevices of your ugly Puma's, think of my grin. Just remember karma is a bitch.

Yours Truly,

Better Off