When you are a city dweller, summer solstice marks the start of the season for making your great escapes to the Cape, the Islands, or Newport, if sailboats, surfboards, or Second Beach are your thing. They all happen to be mine, and added to the desperation of the spring hunt. Find a place, make an offer, close the deal, summer awaits, and I didn’t relish the idea of spending it on the hot streets of the South End for the single, I have no choice but to sell my property because my company is shipping me off to Dubai, open house on a Sunday. Alas, that is exactly where I find myself, as the 4th of July closes the door on the hottest real estate season of the year. Spring sprang, and this is what it I have to show for it:
– 8 weeks,
– 27 properties,
– 8 offers, (1 pending) (1 accepted) (1 fell through)
– 3 bids higher than the accepted offer, and
– 6 cash offers (no strings, no contingencies)
There is of course more data, more stats, statistic upon statistic in fact. Not typically a numbers person, they are floating around my head, and falling out of my mouth like an MIT graduate. My boss Lisa reminds me that not everyone loves the supporting data as much as I do, so I will head her advise, as I so often do, and stop there with it.
Of the 8, there was really only one I knew I could love, the others were just making time. It hurt to lose that one, particularly because I had the highest offer – twice. My eyes welled up with tears over the disappointment. I see it the most vividly of all those 27 properties, in my minds eye, and long for a different outcome.
It was a good eight weeks, with so many properties from which to choose, I often struggled between two or three, but pick you must. Did I make the right choices? Who knows. I did learn a thing or two – I’m damn good at making an offer.
Happy Summer – beware of the sharks. I hear the waters are infested.