I had a good old yarn on the phone with my mother this morning. The latest news on her end is that Mr. Beansley over the road is looking to selling his house off-market. My mother, naturally, is convinced that he must be up to no good, although I did my best to explain that there are plenty of valid reasons for doing this. Privacy, less stress, less preparation needed on the house to get it sale-ready, no advertising costs… there are lots of possibilities.
That Mr. Beansley is a mysterious fellow, to be sure, and I can sort of see where mum’s getting her suspicions from. But I do think she could afford to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. I mean, she’s the one who’s always secretly having the neighbour’s houses valued by one of her chums from the gym who happens to be a real estate agent.
Mum even went so far as to ask me if I could hire a buyers agent on her behalf, so that she could spy on the matter. I told her I’m not doing that, but she wouldn’t let up about it. “Don’t forget to look up the number of Susan’s buyers advocacy service in east Melbourne,” she said firmly, before hanging up the phone. Sigh. Even if I was prepared to do that, I can’t even begin to fathom who Susan is.
I reckon Mr. Beansley is on the far end of the shy side, and would like for the sale to slip under the radar, garnering as little buzz and attention as possible. My mother, on the end of the spectrum, wouldn’t settle for anything less than the most colourful public auction the inner east has ever seen. She is incapable of understanding how anyone could want anything other than to be the centre of attention at all times.
Mum claims she’s concerned with maintaining property values in the street, but I think she’s concerned with sticking her nose in other people’s business. Perhaps I should hire a buyers agent to professionally advise her of this.