Love it or List it?

There’s a show I watch, one that I love, but that Fitty cannot stand. It’s produced and filmed in Canada, and it’s all about a series of home-owners choosing whether to stay in their unsuitable “bought it on a whim 10 years ago” homes, and have a Designer renovate their house to suit their current lifestyle or at the same time, a competing Realtor shows the family homes that suit them right now – no reno required.

The key here is the renovation – sometimes the Designer does such a good job the home-owners fall in love with their old home all over again and choose to “love it” rather than “list it”.

There’s a list of must-haves for both the renovation and for the new home. The show follows the same plot line each episode. *Gasp* the budget is too small for the list! *Gulp* the new home is out of the preferred area!

The other shit thing about the show is the simulated hatred and competition between the Realtor and the Designer, but I deal because I love the home transformations. Fitty can’t deal with any of it, but will sit beside me and watch it seething and making irritating comments the whole time.

Anyway, this show has got me thinking…what if there was a show….

“Love It or List It – My Life”

Must-haves to stay in my life:

• A Nice Boss:  Having lived with Fitty for 10 years, I’d say shock was an understatement of the feeling I had when I finally met the man who inhabits his body 9 – 5. Brat, Dick-face, Prince of Darkness – a few names that would suit his work persona nicely.
• A smaller ass: One of the secret symptoms of giving up smoking is that your ass enlarges. (If you add in the menopausal stomach augmentation commonly experienced by women in my age group), you soon find you can no longer fit into your clothing! It would be nice to have the ass I had prior to giving up smoking. It’s not like I’m doing anything *stuffs chocolate slice in mouth* to cause the expansion of my middle region, *eats bowl of peanuts*  I just can’t understand the weight gain at all? *inhales bag of chips*
• A sister-wife: I do  try to keep the house clean, it’s just that by the time I’ve endured a 40 hour work week with Fitty, the last thing I want to do all weekend is hang around the house (with him) doing the housework! I’d much prefer to visit friends/family/woodland animals, or go to the movies with Magoo. A sister-wife would be a friend and a handy helper at home. I see her washing, cooking, cleaning, and playing with my hair!

Must-haves to buy new life:

• A Palace of Gleaming Surfaces: Plus a family with put-away skills that would blow your mind! Nobody would leave anything anywhere and everyone would shit bubblegum scented rainbows. I tire of the routine scolding and teaching of people who are too old to still be learning how to put things away and look after their own stuff.
• A 10 Hour Work Week:  I love my job, but I reckon if I cut away all the bullshit hours I spend tidying up after the toddler (Fitty), arguing that I am in fact RIGHT and giggling over stupid shit, I could do the work I need to get done in a couple of hours a day. Then I could get back to the important aspects of my menopause healing like retail therapy and remedial sleep treatment.
• Total Remote Control: No more News Marathons, no more four straight hours of science, or watching the dude from Ancient Aliens justifying his research grant. No more Mythbusters, Air Crash Investigation or random world current affairs. No more “Ways to Hate Donald Trump” on CNN! A little of the above is fine, but you can’t constantly watch serious. It kills your soul.

 

Related Fun – Because he was initially terrified I would actually sign my work emails “Boomshanka”, or tell jokes to the clients, Fitty used to make me read emails to him before I sent them. (Okay, yes I may have definitely created this problem for myself by repeatedly threatening to punk the clients and by always whispering “Boomshanka” at the end of his dictated emails.)

One day at work, I was reading an email to Fitty, (As I read the words ‘new home’ Fitty the Satanic Boss shrieks, “This isn’t some flowery Canadian Reno show ya know, this is a Business!  Call. It. A. Dwelling!” God help us if some non robot-like humanity sneaks into our work correspondence!

I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants. He can be such a funny fucker at work, but most of the time I just want to staple his lips together with the industrial stapler…