Trouble in the House

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Well, it finally happened.  I went totally nuts during a self-imposed House Hunters marathon I'd DVRed--saved up for another exciting Saturday evening at home. I should have known better.  It was inevitable.  It's very trying when a series of idiots complain about minor cosmetic issues when deciding on which house to buy. And, after the third hour, I felt my grip on self control, despite the presence of a dozing Seth and a couple of relaxed cats, starting to loosen.Who could blame me?   It was bad enough when a woman with a budget of half a million bucks whined bitterly about an inexpensive and easily removed ceiling fan in a beautiful property that included a spa tub big enough to host Olympic trials, a kitchen the size of Ontario and enough bathrooms for Marie Antoinette.  "Lady," said I to the screen. "Just get rid the fan and put something you like better in." The seas were still calm at this point.  Then, as expected, she complained about the paint color in the dining room but despite sensing a slight roaring in my ears I was appeased by her husband's reminder that, "Honey, we can change that very easily!"  Not that I think I he was that much more reasonable than his wife. He was just more observant because steam had started to come out of the realtor's ears.  Then, in another episode, someone made the brilliant observation that "If only I could take this exact house and put it into that other neighborhood!" After rewinding this to make sure I'd heard correctly, my agitation levels spiked but the cord tethering me to sanity had still not been totally snapped.   "Well, you cannot, you total idiot. Get real!" I hissed at the screen, causing Buzzy's ear to swivel toward me as the seas were grew choppy.  The final straw arrived while actually enjoying an episode that dealt with a young woman who wanted to purchase a brownstone in my home town of Brooklyn, New York. She'd been living with her parents to save money to fulfill this dream but I became slightly alarmed at her admission that she'd blown through the services of eight realtors before engaging a the ninth for the show.  I soon learned why.  This woman, a native New Yorker, wanted a brownstone that had been completely renovated for $500,000 or less. Really, lady? Really? New York City costs big, big, big bucks. End of story.  Her wish list included granite counters and stainless steel appliances in addition to two empty and gleaming rentals apartments to pay her mortgage.  "Oh, yeah? Good luck!" I snorted loudly at the screen.  What she found instead were a couple of homes with good bones and serious potential, decent rentals and a lovely agent who was becoming increasingly annoyed -- like me -- at her lack of reality. The houses needed TLC which could have been administered slowly as time, and her bank account, permitted. She did not agree.  So, as this young woman became increasingly bitchy and petulant, my hours of frustration (and personal lack of a spa tub) caused my lady-like (hahahahahahahaha!!) nature to dissolve and I found myself on my feet yelling "Just friggin' hit her! Hit her already!!" at the real estate agent.  The cats fled. Seth awoke, momentarily alarmed at the ruckus...but upon seeing House Hunters on the screen, correctly sized up the situation and shuffled off to bed.  As for me, there will be no more House Hunters marathons.