Open mouth insert foot...the story of my life. Only minutes after posting the previous blog post. Indy returned my call from earlier that morning...(wait for it)...and he actually talked. Not only did he talk, he was selling himself! Now that's what we needed, Indy. Thank you. He told me he would have an itemized price breakdown to the bank the next week (which happens to be the previous week at the time of this blog post); however, no list yet. Remember we do have a final price quote from him, though.
Remember Pickle said that he would have a total price quote for us at the beginning of this previous week as well. Monday passes. Tuesday passes. Thursday passes. On Friday around 5pm, I send Pickle a text message (since that is his preferred form of communication) and I quote, 'Just wondering if you have the total bid price for us.' I'm warning you, this is another case of sticking my foot in my mouth, sort of. He responds back telling me that his son has been in the hospital since Monday. Who feels like the horse's ass now? Me, of course. But, how was I to know?! Needless to say, no total price from Pickle yet.
As for Fishy, we gave him the toilet salute. You know, your fish dies and your last stitch effort at showing him respect occurs by saluting as you dangle your lifeless, slimy pet over the toilet only to let him drop into the torrent of swirling water never to be seen again. We knew that Fishy wasn't for us with his turn-key house, even though he proved to be the most prompt in getting his bid together. Sorry Fishy, we wish you the very best and thanks for your bid. We broke up with him in an email (his preferred form of communication).
Yesterday, Noel and I (armed with Deep Woods Off!) cleared branches, saplings, and rotting logs to make a path for an electric fence. Would you believe that we didn't have to pick a single tick off us?!
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