I've been in this business for nine years and I thought I'd seen it all. Then last week happened. My seller accepted an offer fifteen thousand over asking. Perfect buyers, conventional loan, twenty percent down, flexible closing date. A dream scenario. I called my seller expecting champagne-popping excitement. Instead, she burst into tears and told me she "wasn't ready to let go of the memories." Ma'am, you listed your house. You hired me. You approved the photos. You signed the listing agreement. You held three open houses and baked cookies for strangers walking through your bedroom. For the next six days, she called me every morning at 6 AM to process her "emotional journey." She wanted to know if the buyers would let her come back and sit in the backyard sometimes. She asked if we could write into the contract that they couldn't paint over the height chart she'd marked on the pantry door frame. We almost lost the deal because she took forty-eight hours to sign the acceptance because she was "meditating on it." The house had been on the market for seven months. She'd complained daily about wanting it sold. I need a vacation.