Speaking of our New York apartment…
Pop the champagne: we have finally closed the sale on it. Despite finding a buyer within the first two weeks of listing it last year, and then finding another the week after Hurricane Sandy hit, we endured months of obstacles to get to the point of finally saying “sold!” just over a couple of weeks ago.
Now that I’m sure I won’t jinx anything, I can look back and say aloud what a pain in the arse it is to hold an open house—especially when the entire house you’re selling is visible the moment you walk in the door. It was only two weeks, but during those two weeks the apartment was listed, we had someone coming to see it every day.
Let’s just say that I finally understand why anyone would iron their sheets.
I remember reading in shelter magazines, like Domino, that ironing one’s sheets was something one does—and being a bit shocked. And then, Martha Stewart dedicated a portion of an eponymous episode to showing off an amazing rotary iron at which she liked to sit and press sheets during restless nights.
My first thought was ‘that sounds like hell.’ Sleeplessness and ironing?! But for years I’ve wondered about the secret to a well-made bed—the kind that you’d find in a fancy hotel (and the kind that someone wants to see in a home they’re considering buying)—and I’m afraid pressed sheets, as unrealistic as they may be, might be the answer.
P.S. We cheated: I took our sheets to a launderer to have them pressed before the photographer came, and then slept without pillowcases, and went over the top edges of the sheets with an iron every morning while Hudson was strapped in his high chair. Did I mention it was a pain in the butt?