The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL with recognition. Eight months. EIGHT MONTHS. You showed this woman thirty houses, which means you also showed her father thirty houses, because let us be honest, Daddy was haunting every open floor plan like a specter of disapproval in boat shoes. The audacity of a man calling to report his adult daughter's "disappointment" as though you are the assistant manager at a Panera who got her soup order wrong is BEYOND THE PALE. Reginald once had a client whose mother called to ask if the neighborhood had "good vibes" and I had to excuse myself to scream into a decorative pillow. You committed no crime here except perhaps the crime of answering your phone after the third call, which as established in Henderson v. My Own Sanity, 2019, constitutes "emotional self-harm with a side of masochism." The dad saying "what does handled mean exactly" is the verbal equivalent of a man returning a steak because it tastes "too much like beef." She lost confidence in the process because she never HAD confidence, she had a father with opinions and a WiFi connection. The Court finds that you are owed eight months of your life back, plus damages for having to say "okay" to a man who definitely wears a Bluetooth headset indoors. CASE DISMISSED, and The Court must now go lie down because this one activated something.