I spent an entire Saturday showing a buyer twelve properties. Twelve. We started at 9 AM and finished at 6 PM. I skipped lunch. My feet were destroyed. At the end of the day, she looked at me and said, "I think I want something more modern." Every single listing I'd sent her for the past month was modern. She'd specifically filtered for modern. She'd used the word "modern" forty-seven times in our text thread. So I spent the next week curating a fresh list of sleek, contemporary homes. Sent her fifteen options with virtual tours, neighborhood stats, the whole package. She responded three days later: "Actually, I've been thinking, and I really want something with more character. Maybe a craftsman?" I'm now on month four. We've pivoted from modern to craftsman to mid-century to "I'll know it when I see it." Last week she asked if I could show her a house that was under contract because "maybe they'd change their minds if they met me." I laughed. She wasn't joking. My therapist says I need boundaries. My wine budget says I need a new career.