Last week, we decided to make an offer on a house. We’d seen it three times. The first time, we were idiots — we judged from the easily fixable stuff and ignored the rest.
The kitchen, as it presently exists, is awful. Counter tops made from bathroom tile?! No thank you. The cabinets are old, and the walls are covered, it appears, with the original material from 1968. Dated and worn, in other words. It made such a little impression on us that I didn’t even post a picture of it.
Later, we reconsidered, but it had disappeared from the real estate web site. Then it reappeared, and while the kitchen was just as horrifying the second time, the rest of the house had a certain charm that we liked. More importantly — rather, most importantly — the foundation is solid and sound, and it has so much potential.
So we went back a third time, and decided to make an offer.
And that’s when the adventure started, because it turned out that there was already an offer on the house. “But they haven’t secured financing yet,” our real estate agent told us. We, on the other hand, had had the foresight to get pre-approved before we even began looking. So after a day of faxing, emailing, calling, signing, and FedEx-ing, we swooped in and scooped it up.
Which is to say, we are now on the receiving end of a house that is under contract.