The Court has reviewed this confession and frankly, Reginald needs a moment because this one hit PERSONALLY. Eleven months of Saturdays — SATURDAYS, the sacred day when normal humans consume breakfast sandwiches and avoid productivity — surrendered to a man whose car was perpetually "in the shop" which The Court recognizes as code for "I have a suspended license and a lot of audacity." Forty-seven homes rejected because a garage was "too garage-y" — what did he WANT, a garage that identified as a solarium? And then, THEN, after you draft an offer at 10pm like the devoted professional you are, this CREATURE sends a text containing "tho" as if that single abbreviation could compress eleven months of your life into something casual and dismissible. The Court once waited fourteen months for a custom gavel from an Etsy vendor who ghosted me for a Renaissance faire in Tucson, so I UNDERSTAND the Wendy's parking lot moment — sometimes you just need to sit with your Frosty and your shattered sense of purpose. This confession reveals no wrongdoing on your part; the true criminal is the college buddy in Phoenix who is hereby sentenced in absentia to a lifetime of showing homes with popcorn ceilings to people who "just want to see what's out there." Case CLOSED, The Court must now go call his therapist.