The moment our realtor unlocked the door and we stepped into
the foyer of your gracious house, our family -- my husband Justin, myself and
our three children, Madison, McKinley and Carter -- knew we were "home."
We have already decided where we will place the holiday tree. Each child has picked out his or her bedroom. And we've decided how to arrange the furniture on the deck. There are, of course, a few
things we will have to do to make it “ours.”
We’ll be adding a pool, naturally. We both work and the nanny
doesn’t drive so she wouldn’t be able to take the children to the Y to swim. And
because we do a great deal of entertaining, we plan to add a Belgian block-lined circular driveway
so guests can park directly in front of the house rather than on the street. We’ll
also need to have a third garage bay built to accommodate Justin’s BMW M6. He
won’t let me park my “mommy-mobile,” the Range Rover, within 20 feet of it.
(Men and their toys!)
Your house has only three bathrooms. We have taught Maddy, ‘Kinley
and Peanut it is important to have space they can call their own, so we will
have to add at least two more; it wouldn’t be fair to ask the children to share
a bathroom with each other much less their nanny.
The realtor’s brochure indicates new appliances were
installed when the kitchen was renovated two years ago, but we have always
considered a Viking range a necessity so the current cooktop will have to go. We
love the Sub Zero and the two dishwashers, however, and plan to keep them if we
can have them refaced to match the Poggenpohl cabinets we will be ordering. (In
the meantime, could you ask Walmart or wherever you bought them to send someone
to repair the grout line on the countertop where the two slabs of granite come
together? That granite will have to go too, but I suppose we can live with it
for a while.)
But before we even begin to address the projects listed
above, step one will be to have the master bath ripped out and redone from top
to bottom. How you’ve lived all these years without a steam shower, sauna and bidet
is, frankly, beyond me. Our agent said your agent told her you are originally
from the Middle West. We have heard people out there live differently from
people in Connecticut, so perhaps that explains why you were able to endure such a primitive facility.
And now, the bad news: We wish we could meet your asking
price but we simply can’t. The way we figure it, we will need to spend at least
$900,000 on top of what we pay for the property to make the house habitable. Though
I’m sure it served your purposes when you were raising your children back in
the fifties or whenever, surely you must realize how hopelessly out-of-date it
is for an active family of the twenty-first century.
For that reason we hope you won’t be offended by our opening
offer which unfortunately has very little room for negotiation. Our agent and your
agent, I am confident, will be able to work out a plan that is a win-win for
both our families.
Sincerely,
Your buyers must be related to the folks that used to stop in at the store in the early 1960's just after I-70 opened. The state or feds put us a sign at the Calwood/Bachelor Exit that said Gas and Food was available. Folks would pull up in their T-Birds, Buicks and Caddy's and ask "Where are the restrooms" and "Where do you eat". One of my jobs was to pump the gas and it was fun to watch their face when I pointed to the outhouse and told them Uncle Ted would make them a bologna or ham and cheese sandwich inside. Only the desperate would go to the outhouse but many enjoyed one of Uncle Teds sandwiches. After a few months that sign was taken down.
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