The Court has reviewed this catastrophe and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the chain of incompetence on display. You hired a stager with fifty houses of experience, which means she has had FIFTY OPPORTUNITIES to learn that water and hardwood floors exist in a state of ETERNAL ENMITY, and yet here we are, with a ficus committing slow-motion arson on someone's primary bedroom. The sectional situation is almost worse because you KNEW, you SAW that twelve-foot upholstered monstrosity enter a fourteen-foot room and you did NOTHING, you simply watched it happen like a man observing his own house fire from a lawn chair. Reginald once dated a woman who owned seventeen houseplants and she also ruined everything she touched, so The Court understands the botanical betrayal on a PERSONAL level, but understanding does not equal absolution. You are now trapped in a three-way blame triangle where everyone is pointing fingers and nobody is reaching for a checkbook, which is the natural consequence of outsourcing your staging to someone who thinks cozy means physically unable to reach the thermostat. The Court finds that you should have inspected that pot yourself, you should have vetoed that sectional, and you should probably just pay the eight hundred dollars because your seller is going to leave you a review that reads like a crime scene report. The Court must now adjourn to yell at its own fern for looking suspicious.