From Parkville Missouri to KC: My Hair’s Going Gray and It’s Not Just My Age
Alright, folks. It’s me, Jessica. You know, the realtor who’s always gabbing about houses? Yeah, that one. Look, I gotta get something off my chest before I lose it.
This Market’s Gone Crazier Than a Cat in a Tornado
So, picture this. I’m in Parkville yesterday, showing this house that’s seen better days. I mean, the ’70s called and they want their shag carpet back. We pull up and there’s a line. A line! You’d think we were giving away free Chiefs tickets or something. And don’t even get me started on Sunset Hill. Showed a place there last week. Client sees the price tag and nearly faints. Says to me, “Jess, did they accidentally add an extra zero?” Honey, I wish. Welcome to 2023, where your kid’s college fund might just buy you a garage.
Every Neighborhood’s Turned Upside Down
You know what’s really baking my noodle? Places I used to struggle to give away are now hotter than a flat iron left on overnight. Take Roanoke. Last year, you couldn’t pay people to look there. Now? I’ve got folks offering to name their firstborn after me if I can get them in. It’s nuts! And Westport? Lord have mercy. Since when did “party central” become family-friendly? I’ve got PTA moms calling me at ungodly hours asking about school districts there. I’m like, “Honey, five years ago you were the one stumbling out of those bars at 2 AM!”
My Two Cents for You Poor Souls Looking to Buy
If you’re brave (or crazy) enough to buy in this circus, listen up. Get your finances in order faster than you can say “mortgage.” Be ready to jump on anything half-decent. I had a client lose out because they wanted to sleep on it. Sleep? In this market? That’s a luxury, sweetie. And for the love of BBQ, be flexible. That pink bathroom? It’s not hideous, it’s “retro chic.” That weird smell? It’s “character.” And yeah, maybe check out Quality Hill. Never thought I’d say that, but here we are. Look, I’m running on fumes and faith at this point. This market’s got me questioning my sanity and my career choices. I’m stress-eating BBQ at midnight and considering a nice, quiet job. Like lion taming. If you need me, I’ll be the one in the messy bun and yesterday’s makeup, probably talking to myself in the Quik Trip parking lot. Might be laughing, might be crying. Flip a coin. Hang in there, Missouri. We’re all in this crazy boat together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a pillow to scream into. Or maybe another house to show. In this market, who knows which is worse?
