Is this guy serious?

For anyone who doesn't know, my parents have finally sold the house we have owned for the past 13 years. I moved here when I was eight, rather begrudgingly, but I have eventually grown fond of this house and am sad to see it go. However, I realize that I have no right to truly be upset since I am so rarely at home as it is, and the time spent here in the upcoming years will only get less and less. Besides, my mom and dad are 59 and 61 respectively, and they are getting no younger. They need something smaller, something with a first floor bedroom and bathroom so they won't have any difficulties when they can no longer walk upstairs, say in the next few months or so. So I've decided to suck it up, keep my mouth shut, and be as helpful as possible.

Before Spain, I was stuck with people coming in the house almost every other day to look it. I would have to clean everything up, leave the house, and find something to do for the hour or two that people were roaming through MY home. I did it with minimal eye rolling, but it sucked. I did not enjoy waking up at 8 in the morning on my vacation to go idle at Starbucks for two hours or, even worse, sitting on my front porch waiting for people to leave when they took far longer than they were supposed to. So when we sold the house I was a bit depressed, forced to accept the reality of the move, but relieved that all the hassle of potential buyers was gone.

Earlier this week, though, I found out we weren't quite done. The buyers wanted to come in for one final inspection, in order to get a professional assessment of our dying heating system. Even better, they wanted to come at 8:30 in the morning. Now, when I came back from Spain, I found my room stripped of its original furniture, most of my bureaus removed. I have been forced to keep half of my clothes in their suitcases while the other half has been sprawled across my floor. Admittedly it’s a mess, but right now there isn't much I can do to fix it, so I didn't know what I was supposed to do about the buyers coming. Luckily, my mom told me not to worry about it, that she would leave a note saying I was sick and sleeping upstairs, so I wouldn’t have to clean my room or get up and leave the house so early in he morning. I was very grateful and very relieved.

At quarter to nine this morning, I could hear people walking around the house, but it wasn't a huge disturbance. I just put on my head phones, listened to some Corinne Bailey Rae (she's awesome), and sort of half slept through it all. But then, a half an hour later, I heard a knock on my door. "Uh, yeah?" I asked in confusion, just before my bedroom door creaked open. "Is it ok if we come in and check the heat circulation in here?" one of the two men standing there asked me. Looking around at my slovenly room, I wanted to scream what was clearly obvious: " No! I am sleeping, the note says I'm sick, and I look like a rabid cat attacked me during the night." But, of course, too shocked and cowardly, I only managed to let out an exaggerated sigh that clearly said "No, fucker" and muttered an exasperated "whatever" before pulling the covers over my head. Unfortunately, my clear frustration didn't register with this a-hole, and I was forced to endure their presence and even answer his questions about the ventilation in the room.

I'd really like to know how this guy ever thought it would be ok to come into my room. Clearly, what any young female wants is for two middle aged men to walk through piles of her dirty underwear, tampons, and candy bar wrappers as she lies in bed, filthy and half asleep. I may not be easily embarrassed, but I do have some pride, people. I would like it if I didn't have to cower under my covers from strange men in my bedroom; I would like to not worry about people judging the despicable state my bedroom is in right now; and I would like to know that my new underwear isn't going to get a giant boot print on it from some socially inept electrician. I don’t know, maybe I'm just picky.

But, on a bright side, the selling of our house does lead to one good thing: an f-ing awesome going away party. Freddie and I are in the early stages of planning, and more details will certainly follow. 8427 Prospect Avenue has done us well and thrown its far share of parties, so it’s only right that we see it off properly. Expect tons of people, tons of dancing, and tons of stupidity. And now that I officially hate our new owners, feel free to damage as much property as you'd like.