Those of you who are masochistic enough to read my posts with any regularity may remember my first post in this series. I had no idea there would be a second one. But then Saturday happened. Before we get there, a wee bit of history first:

You might recall from the first installment that we were scheduled to close on the sale of our present home on April 28. Since we wouldn’t be able to take occupancy of our new abode until sometime in the second half of May, we scheduled our move for today, made arrangements to put our worldly possessions in storage, and made reservations in an extended-stay hotel, which we not-so-affectionately referred to as the Homeless Suites.

On To the Story

While Anne was out running errands Saturday morning, Betty Vaguely, the female half of the couple buying our present home, called Anne’s cell phone. Betty wanted to know if we’d be willing to sell them two of our tables and a mirror. They also talked about home security systems, local cleaning services, and a few other things. Then Anne said:

“We’re going to have the house professionally cleaned after we move out on Monday.”

Betty said something along the lines of, “Huh?”

“Yes. The closing is on Thursday. Mark has to leave for North Carolina on Wednesday. We can’t move into our new home until the second half of May. So, we decided to give ourselves a day in between our move and Mark’s departure to catch our breath.”

“Where are you going?” Betty asked.

“Into the Homeless Suites,” Anne replied.

Betty immediately said, “You don’t have to do that. We’re not moving in until June 1st.”

Anne said something along the lines of, “Huh?”

Well, then.

The ladies agreed to push the closing back a month. We agreed to give the Vaguelys some of the furniture in exchange for the breather (with the added benefit of making our new start even newer). Anne and I are still exhaling the sigh of relief that started two days ago.


After receiving the good news, I called the moving company and cancelled today’s appointment. Anne called the Homeless Suites and canceled our reservation. We got in touch with our realtor, our mortgage company, and our attorney. And we set Plan B into motion.

I chalk the positive outcome up to my extremely clean living. Anne chalks it up to my shit Irish luck. Either way, we’ll take it.

All’s well, indeed, that ends well. And I’m happy to know the Luck o’ the Irish hasn’t deserted me.