There’s a house in our neighbourhood that recently went through an extreme makeover. It took a few months. I don’t remember what it looked like before but it was gradually transformed into a beautiful, heritage style house; all burgundy paint and black railings and stone pavings. Every time we walked by, it was bigger and more gussied. Landscaping. Fancy tiles. I don’t know what-all. It smelled like Money and Class and Holy Shit That’s A Renovation You Don’t See Every Day with Land Values The Way They Are.
I dubbed it the house of “Richy McRicherpants” the day I walked by and there was a friggin schooner parked in the driveway. Come on, buddy. You couldn’t find a Rolls? (I find I access my construction worker accent quite easily when it comes to obvious shows of wealth.)
A few weeks later, a for sale sign appeared.
I hied me to the MLS and found the listing. $1,650,000.
“Har!” said Saint Aardvark. “How long will it take for that to be reduced?” Because it is a nice neighbourhood but the house is right on the main street, very trafficky, not prime Queen’s Park location like a few blocks east.
Answer: 6 weeks or so. The ominous “New Price!” sign is this week dangling from the board. I remembered the selling agent’s name this time and went to his website, Dennis Timmermeister.com (“If you can say Timmermeister, you can say sold”) and discovered that the house is now only $1,450,000. It has five bedrooms and a 2 bedroom suite below, plus a garage that is “carriage-house-ready.” So I figure we need three families and someone to rent the garage.
Here is the listing. Lovely house. Very large. You might think for $1.4 million they could find someone to write a descriptive sentence better than: “Touched By Tradition, cherished yeserdays, but state of the art tomorrow, walk into past and live in the future,” but you would be wrong.
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