I Can't Smell, And It Stinks

Once Matt and I were both out of our COVID quarantine/masking timeframe, we hurried from Tampa to Naples with a list of open houses we wanted to tour.

We saw an older house that had been updated, but the layout was weird and we hated the new flooring.

We saw a house with good backyard space, but everything—the doors, the floors, the cabinets, the walls, the baseboards were in terrible shape. Like thirty nervous dogs lived there along with people who never washed their hands.

One of the houses we wanted to see had gone under contract the night before, so they’d cancelled the open house.

Another house had a Lamborghini in the garage. Not that that mattered at all, just notable.

And the last house of the day—which was, admittedly, over our budget— had an amazing backyard. So peaceful and serene and pretty that they’ve hosted weddings there!!! (Even if we could have afforded that house, Matt and I wouldn’t have the first clue how to keep that yard from turning into a jungle—or worse.)

So, long story short, we didn’t find anything we wanted to buy. But there was one thing I noticed (after we were done for the day). I hadn’t smelled any of the houses. Good or bad—other people’s houses tend to have at least some sort of smell when you walk in.

It’s scary to think about buying a house without that sense in play, right?

Surely that tore-up-from-the-floor-up house smelled bad. It had to, right?? The doors were all handprint-stained around the doorknobs… there were three or four dog crates in there. There’s no way that house didn’t have an odor—even if it was primarily air fresheners put out by the Realtor in attempt to mask any smells….

I still can’t taste much either. I, oddly, find that lingering symptom more amusing than annoying. So far.