The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the sheer preventability of this disaster. You had a LOCKED deal, counselor. LOCKED. The buyers loved the kitchen. The kitchen had THE ISLAND. And you let a woman who lives TWO STATES AWAY and spent FOUR MINUTES in the property — four minutes, which is less time than Reginald spends selecting a tie each morning — detonate the entire transaction with three words about spatial perception. This Court once lost a perfectly good friendship because my college roommate's mother said my apartment felt damp, and I have thought about that comment every single day for nineteen years, so I understand the devastating power of unsolicited maternal opinions. But YOU should have known better. The pre-showing parental inoculation speech is BASIC PROTOCOL, outlined clearly in Henderson v. The Mother-In-Law Who Ruined Christmas, 2019. You sit them down in the car, you look them in their hopeful little eyes, and you say the magic words: your parents are going to say something negative because that is what parents DO, and you must treat their opinions like background noise at a highway rest stop. Instead you drove them to their doom in silence while nine thousand dollars evaporated into the suburban ether. The dad was on his PHONE, counselor. He was probably checking fantasy football while his wife committed real estate homicide. And now those buyers are ghosts who text you about similar listings like haunted apparitions of your own negligence. The Court sentences you to eternal awareness that the kitchen was more than fine. THE KITCHEN HAD THE ISLAND. Case dismissed, Reginald needs to go lie down.