For as long as I can remember, there are three things I always wanted to be in life:
1) A perfect mother.
2) An internationally famous super model.
3) A real estate agent.
My life being what it is, I’ve pretty much completely given up on numbers 1 and 2, but recently I’ve decided to take a stab at number 3.
I admit, I’m not sure why I’ve always wanted to be a real estate agent. Oh sure, it could be the draw of the fast-paced, glamorous lifestyle. Or the excitement of meeting new people. Or the thrill of making the Big Deal. Maybe it’s a combination of all that. But, between you and me, I think it’s partly because all of the fabulous shoes I get to wear. (Uh, to those of you living in my neck of the woods and planning on selling or buying a house in the next year, Ha, ha! Just kidding! I’m not that shallow and – you’re not buying this, are you?) Oh, OK, so maybe it isn’t the most power-driven, intellectual reason, but after going around in jeans and tennis shoes all these years, who can resist an exciting career that comes with a wardrobe upgrade?
I envisioned myself chauffeuring clients in my new BMW, wearing a hand-tailored Armani suit and toting a custom leather briefcase. I pictured sweeping my arm across thresholds and saying things like “This is the living room,” and “This is the kitchen” and “The spa comes with the house.”
But wait! Before all of you real estate agents out their start sending me nasty e-mails, let me stop right here and say that entering your club isn’t that easy. Nooooooo. In order to become a professional real estate agent you have to know stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. Things like complicated tax laws, and disclosures, and terms like “hypothecate” and “amatorization.” You have to go to school. You have to study. And, on top of all that, you have to pass a test. One so intensive and horrible that your brain practically bursts out of your ears from the strain of it all.
You can imagine what this means to a person like me. Me, a person who hasn’t retained anything since the lyrics of Metalica’s Black Album in 1985.
So, in the typical Farmer fashion, I did what I usually do when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds: I went shopping. And, lo and behold, right there between the Versace handbags and the Manolo Blahnik pumps, I devised a crafty plan. One perfect for someone like me.
I memorized the chapter on real estate laws and rewarded myself with a new grey tweed skirt suit. I finished the assignment on disclosure statements and bought a matching silk blouse. I studied about title insurance and got a pair of Vera Wang high-heeled boots. I conquered the concept of real estate finance and got a red patent-leather purse. And so on.
And the funny thing when I was finished I not only had a bon-a-fide real estate license, I had a fabulous new professional wardrobe.
Now I just need some clients to go with my designer outfits. But, until then I’ll just keep studying and taking classes, because, hey, you can never have too many shoes.
