I set up for an open house at 11:45 for a noon start. Signs out, cookies arranged, soft jazz playing. At 11:58, a woman walks in with two kids under five, a golden retriever, and what I can only describe as a travel mug the size of a small bucket. Before I can even say hello, the dog has knocked over my sign-in sheet, one kid is opening the refrigerator, and the other is asking if he can "try the toilet." She spent forty-five minutes there. Forty-five. She opened every single closet, laid down on the primary bedroom floor to "test the carpet," and let her dog drink from the master bath toilet. When she finally left, she told me the house "wasn't really what she was looking for" but asked if I could recommend a good pizza place nearby. I spent twenty minutes cleaning paw prints off the hardwood before the next visitors arrived. They stayed for three minutes, said it smelled like wet dog, and left. I sold that house two weeks later to someone who never even came to an open house. I'm done with Sundays.