Dear Estate Agent,
Our relationship feels like that of a badly arranged marriage. Neither of us were sure if we wanted it, and now we have been thrown together we both want out.
But we are stuck together, till completion do us part.
I have tried to talk to you, but you don’t return my calls. I have tried to see you but now we are “under offer” you don’t come home anymore.
I know understand when you say “it’s moving along nicely” you mean “please stop calling” and when you say “it’s with the solicitors now” you mean “please stop calling”.
At first you were charming, you flattered me about my sense of interior design, you complimented my cleanliness, you made me feel special. I believed you when you said my bathroom mould was becoming and my hand printed wall homely. You seduced me with words, the other agents wouldn’t understand me you said, they wouldn’t describe the garden as wild and free-flowing like you were they would only see weeds. You charmed me in the bedroom with a wink of your eye and you swept you arm around the room saying ‘I will show people the Master Bedroom as spacious, airy and a place to unwind.’ I heard only the implication of lust and basic desire and at the time I may have broken out into a light sexy sweat.
I knew there was a price but for that level of care one percent seemed like nothing to pay.
Now as my calls go unanswered a couple of grand seems close to exhortation.
Did you come back one day when I wasn’t here? Did you let yourself in silently armed with flowers and wine and found my home in its true state with knickers drying on radiators and last nights tea in the sink? Did you see the dodgy carpet stain I tried to cover with a rug, did you notice the dog like to slobber on the sofa?
Why, Why, Why?
I implore you – please return my call…
Mrs Blackmore – but do call me Jane.