The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself experiencing what can only be described as a JURISDICTIONAL MIGRAINE. You stood in a house that was no longer yours to sell, with a man measuring a garage for a boat that mathematics had already rejected, while your broker — a woman The Court can only assume communicates exclusively through poorly-timed phone calls — interrogated you about sign-in sheet documentation like some kind of commission-obsessed archaeologist. This is not real estate, this is BUREAUCRATIC PERFORMANCE ART. Reginald once attended a showing where the seller's cat knocked over a staging vase and everyone just pretended it didn't happen, and THAT made more sense than this situation. The husband said his wife really liked the kitchen, as if kitchens have ever compensated for the fundamental spatial impossibility of cramming 24 feet of boat into 20 feet of garage, which they have NOT, as established in Maritime Delusion v. Suburban Garage Realities, 2019. The Court finds you guilty not of malice but of being trapped in a cascading failure of institutional competence while a man with a boat-shaped dream refused to accept geometry. ORDER IN THE COURT, and also order a new broker.