Truth: Every home I have purchased, at some point, I have cursed at the former homeowner.
Truth: I just became a former homeowner someone is now swearing at.
I am so not kidding you.
In our first home, I could not for the life of me figure out how anyone could tolerate dirt on top of the built-in cabinets. Like real, plant-derived, dirt. From a pot that previously contained a plant. I also decried former occupants of 4716 Indiana Avenue for their poor planning in 3-way switches and putting the ONLY electrical outlet Eric was working on on a different breaker so he shocked the bejeezus out of himself while working on it.
In our second home, I wondered how anyone could condone the amazing amount of wallpaper and dirty shelves in the basement storage room. And how anyone could leave a battery backup unplugged off the sump pump.
We just closed on our third home, and I swear to you, I became that former homeowner.
Holy crap. I totally gave up.
We went over last Saturday to clean the empty house. I could not have done LESS to qualify as having cleaned the house.
I barely did jack squat in the bathrooms. I may have, in fact, put toilet bowl cleaner in the toilets, let it sit for 15 minutes, then flushed, without an actual scrub.
I didn't wash out a single cupboard. Or drawer. There is most certainly spilled junk in the fridge that I did out clean out. I did vacuum.
Only because it was easy, and there was no furniture in the way.
I am telling you, I could not have cared one ounce less about cleaning that house. I did not have the energy to care, and I suspect that many, MANY about-to-be-former-homeowners feel the same way.
See, I had spent the last week cleaning the disease, dirt, grime, clutter, (sewage), and disgust out of the house we moved in to. I hung photos and placed decorative pillows in order to stage the new house. I scrubbed the dried out, stuck on, raspberry-colored mess out of the freezer. I made my finger joints literally swell up trying to get the grease spatter off of EVERYTHING in the kitchen.
I didn't have the energy to care any longer about a home I was no longer living in.
At one point, I wanted to do a good job. I wanted to leave a sparkling clean, move-in-ready, beautiful place for the next owners.
That idea flew neatly out the window at about the 53rd box I packed.
There is likely a crap-ton of dirt, grime, hair, and carelessness that the new homeowners will need to deal with. And will probably curse at me over. And... I. Just.Don't.Care.