There’s been a snag in the sale of my place. I received a nice offer, but then the buyer conducted a home inspection that revealed something behind one of the bathroom walls.

“What is it?” I asked my realtor.

“It appears to be a monster.”

“WHAT?”

“Yes, there’s a monster behind one of your bathroom walls.”

“What kind of monster?”

“Well, the inspector thinks it resembles that beast that tagged Luke Skywalker across the face in The Empire Strikes Back.”

“You mean a Wampa?”

“.........how did you know the actual name?”

“Never mind that. Look, there isn’t a Wampa hiding behind my bathroom wall.”

He shrugged. “The inspection shows otherwise. We’ll have to kill it with a lightsaber. You and the buyer will have to split the costs.”

“I don’t have a lightsaber.”

“Hmm, that means we’ll have to kill it with a balpeen hammer. That will increase the cost.”

“God damn it!”

Well, okay, apparently the inspection actually revealed “a high level of humidity, possibly indicating mold,” rather than a Wampa.  But seriously, it might have well been a Wampa.  There is no mold in my goddamn place.  Except maybe when I forget to clean out my refrigerator sometimes.

I recently put my condo on the market. Before I did, I hired a stager.

I was a little afraid to do so.  I can always tell when I visit a staged house. It doesn’t feel real; it feels...staged.

So how did they do?

Well, first of all, they put wagon wheels on the wall:

Apparently, you should want to live in this condo once you’ve had a long, dusty day heading out west with the rest of the pioneers.

Also, and you can’t see it very well, but there’s a gigantic wooden key behind the vase on the left.  What exactly does this key unlock--the place where the good staging furniture is kept?

There are also, on the dining room wall, gigantic cut out wooden pieces in the shape of utensils:

I’d feel less weird about it if I had the actual utensils to use. I mean, sometimes I like to take a really big bite of cereal.

That drawer against the living room wall is actually mine:

The stager dragged it out of my bedroom. It holds my clothes, which are still in it. I wondered if any prospective buyer opened a drawer and got an eyeful of my underwear and socks.

Also, note that she took the TV out of there. Personally, I think a house without a television is just creepy.  But she also took out the bookshelves and books. Without TV or books, what are people supposed to do who live here?  Admire the cut out utensils?

Finally, there’s this bed:

Nice duvet. Did the country of Ireland get sick and puke all over it?  How are you supposed to fall asleep on it--count not only sheep, but also Shepherd’s pie?  Is the northern part of the bed fighting for home rule?  I mean…

...oh wait, the bed is mine too.