The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the audacity of an agent who did not personally guarantee the stability of federal interest rates. You stood there, mentally spending your commission like some sort of FISCAL FANTASIST, while the mortgage market was sharpening its knives in the other room. "Yesterday was yesterday" — oh, how PROFOUND, how DEVASTATING, how reminiscent of the time Reginald's ex-wife said the same thing about our anniversary dinner reservations that I had DEFINITELY made. The backup offer went elsewhere, the third buyer fled to IDAHO of all places — a state The Court refuses to recognize as legitimate jurisdiction — and now this poor woman is out twelve thousand dollars AND plane tickets to see her sister. You know what MY sister did when I called her about my gavel collection? She hung up on me. TWICE. But at least she never blamed me for interest rate fluctuations, which is MORE THAN THIS SELLER CAN SAY. The Court finds that you should have built a time machine, frozen the market in amber, or at minimum performed some light securities fraud to keep that buyer qualified. The Roomba concurs. Case dismissed, Reginald has a showing to disrupt.