The Most Embarrassing Moment Ever in the Whole History of the World

After a good couple of months of decorating, sorting out and ‘house-doctoring’ I put my flat on the market last Friday. There are a few more things that I could still do to make the flat more saleable but I’ve had enough now, I just want to sell the thing and get on with finding somewhere nice to live with Charles.

As part of a final push, yesterday evening I cut back my forsythia bush which has lately started doing beanstalk impressions, trying to conquer the garden with its long, sneaky branches. Tempting fate, but not seriously expecting any flat viewers just yet, I left all the cut branches in a pile on the patio ready to pick up and throw away tonight. Also a large pile of clothes in the bedroom, and a toppling mountain of ‘to do pile’ junk on one of the dining chairs… again, to pick up tonight. I should have expected it I suppose, but dang it if the estate agent didn’t ring me with a viewer for 4.30pm – the exact time I get home from work, so no time for tidying up my crap before their arrival. Aargh!

In desperation I snuck away from work 15 minutes early. I will have to grovel an apology to Boss Number 1 tomorrow, as she was watching me leave through the glass wall of her office, powerless to say anything to me due to being in a meeting with someone at the time! At least it meant she couldn’t say no!

I zoomed down the motorway, screeching to a halt outside my flat at 4.10pm. Phew, 20 minutes to go. Slam the car door – run indoors – throw bags in a heap on the floor – oh no, that’s not good, pick them up again and throw them into the wardrobe – throw pile of clothes willynilly on top of the bags – jam the wardrobe door shut to stop everything falling out – put away washed dishes, crish crash – heave forsythia branches over the wall – stuff several piles of junk into the drawer under the bed. OK, ready now? – whoops, the flat smells of cleaning fluid and paint, not very welcoming – run around spraying perfume, then again with the coffee grinder, grinding it in every room and trying to waft the nice coffee smell about.

All finished, just in time. Bzzzzt! The door buzzer sounded.

The estate agent ushered in a very sweet and slightly effeminate man with glasses and a shiny bald head. We all shook hands and I took both men outside to see the garden. I went into raptures about how the sun shines right into the garden in the afternoons, how it is a Summer haven, blah blah, buy the damn flat, and then I sat myself down on the settee to let the estate agent do his job around the rest of the flat.

I listened as they walked around each room.

In the kitchen I could hear them opening cupboards. Oh god no, I didn’t think to tidy up inside the cupboards, that’s not good!

It got worse. In the bedroom the estate agent, not content with just pointing out the fitted wardrobes, slid open the wardrobe door to show Viewing Man the pile of crap I had just thrown in there. At least it didn’t all fall out on top of him, but why on earth do estate agents have to open cupboards? Do they not realise that’s where people store their junk?!

They moved into the bathroom.

“Here we have the airing cupboard,” said smoothie estate agent man, creaking open the door to show Viewing Man inside. Oh nooo! I cringed, picturing my blow up man (a Secret Santa Christmas present from work last year) waving up at them from the floor of the airing cupboard. Not quite what you want a potential buyer to see in your home!

And then…

“… and you can see there’s good storage under the sink with a cupboard here too…”

NOOO, DEAR GOD NOOOOOO! DON’T SHOW HIM UNDER THERE!! THERE’S A BIN FULL OF USED SANITARY TOWELS IN THERE!!!!

Oh the horror of it! Oh the total, cringing shame of an estate agent showing someone your used sanitary products!