The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Yesterday I got a call from a nice woman who wondered if, by chance, I would like to sell my place.  I said, yah sure, you betcha, how much you offering?  There was a small pause, no doubt surprised that she had a live one on the end of her line.  I assume 99 out of 100 hang up after a few choice obscenities, so it must be a relief to get a landowner hot to sell.  Finally she got her heart pumping again and said, ‘What price do you have in mind?’

Without hesitation I said 2 million dollars and it’s yours, lock stock and barrel.  Barrels plural, actually, but I didn’t want to screw the deal by mentioning the acres of assorted antiques, junk, used equipment, etc.  We could negotiate a price for those on the side.  Later, of course.  She paused once more, not quite as long as before, then said, ‘well, that would depend on the answers to a couple of questions.’  And then she started to ask if I owned the home outright and …

I stopped her mid-question.  ‘You already know the answers to those if you’ve done your homework so let’s just cut to the chase.  How long before we can close this deal?  Two million, it’s a steal the way the market is going.  Hang onto it a couple months, you’ll double your money.  Me, I’ll be in Rio de Janeiro with any luck, Carnival, cheap living.  Two million could probably buy a chunk of rainforest you and your consortium might be interested in logging.’

‘I think we could come to some agreement on price,’ she started over, ‘but first I need ….’  ‘Two million and a quarter, ma’am,’ I told her.  ‘Price is going up every time you ask more questions.’   Long pause…  Finally I said, ‘you really need to up your game, lady, set the hook, make the close, seal the deal.  Or were you hoping you’d get some old grandfather with dementia who’d sell the homestead for peanuts.  I just got a letter today from a gyppo logging outfit, nice stationary and everything, who would love to help me clearcut my property, get all the permits, drag in skidders and dozers, then clean up afterwards.  Nice sounding fella.  Like you.  I get a card from the local realtors showing me the house down the road that they just sold, big bucks, would I like to cash in too? ‘

The quiet sound of a dial tone greeted this last little rant.  The mizzus says just hang up on these people, but I think that’s rude.  Seems fair to poke the gator a bit.  After all, they’re going to get dinner on one of the next calls.  Not that I think I’m going to give them indigestion, but gee, I can hope, can’t I?

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