I spent three months showing a buyer every single home in her price range. Every. Single. One. We finally found the perfect place—great neighborhood, updated kitchen, exactly what she wanted. She was ready to write an offer. Then her "spiritual advisor" told her the house faced the wrong direction for her energy flow. Dead. Done. Wouldn't even consider it. So we kept looking. Found another perfect home two weeks later. This time her cat walked through the listing photos on her laptop and "reacted negatively." I asked if she was joking. She was not. Last week she texted me that she's decided to rent for another year because she pulled a tarot card that told her it wasn't her season to buy. Three months of my life, forty-something showings, and I lost to a deck of cards and a judgmental cat. I'm billing the universe for my gas money.