You have no idea...

Well, I had been getting about a phone call per day from the craziest loon I have ever spoken to and it might be possible to relay those conversations properly if I were a great writer but I'll just try to give you a general idea. It takes some labor to do the "" stuff but in this instance I guess I have no option. First you must imagine a woman speaking in an artifically husky sexy voice with her mouth a little too close to the receiver. Not me, her. Anyway, her name is Heather and her email address indicates that she is a "Private Investigator". I think I've got this set up.
"Hi Heather, my name is Elizabeth, I got your email about your interest in the dining set on craigslist, what can I tell you about it?" (normal human being)
"(Weirdo)Ohhhhhh, Elizabeth, I am so glad you called me back, you see my boyfriend... oh I just hate using the word 'boyfriend' when you're over forty tee hee hee, he is in the process of looking at real estate and we came to be discussing design and I mentioned Mid Century to him and we came across your ad and I just love this table and it perfectly matches my ART and he he he he, well, he wants to buy it for me and I think this might really mean something,you see he's going through a divorce but we don't talk about it, but I think that he wants me to have a really nice dining set to come eat dinner with me. I want children so badly, do you have children?"
"Yes, three"
"Ohhhh, we want seven but we're probably too old but even if we can just have one or two....ha ha ha it would be a dream come true...he's a lawyer."
Ya know what? I thought I could relay all of those phone conversations but I just hit my max. Hopefully you get the idea. This woman talked my freakin ear off non-stop forevaaaaa! Meanwhile, I'm in various locations, my couch, my neighbors house, my daughter's classroom, making crazy faces thinking this is the most colossial waste of time in all of history. After the fifth call, I finally caved. She wanted me to deliver the dining set to her apartment over an hour away, sight unseen and she was promising that HE would pay me $690. No other prospects were looming and the bank account was looking kinda dim with the renters check bouncing and all, so I finally caved. There was also the excting thought of not having daily conversations with Heather. I'm sure you can imagine what her husky romantic diatribe over my affirmative decision sounded like, and how long it took her to profess it to me while diverting into admitting that she has been taking notes when her boyfriend calls her and reading them to me... I guess she somehow wanted me to decipher if these notes meant something... I was speechless, just focusing on the $$$ in my mind. I'm sure they were reflecting in my pupils. I got to the apartment and called her, she said she'd be right down so I waited and waited, and she never came out the door. I went inside the apartment building and found the little machine like they have on Jerry Seinfeld. I punched in the numbers and I really wanted her to answer so I could pretend I was on the show but it just rang and rang. I went back out to the car very puzzled. I called again and her "boyfriend" answered. He mumbled something about how it took Heather awhile but they'd be right down." This was at 3 in the afternoon so I naturally started speculating why he was there at that hour and what they were doing. Finally the door burst open and seductively swaying towards me comes a woman in the tightest black top and pants ever in the history of man with stilletto heels. Her boobs could literally rival Dolly Parton. Her lips could rival Angelina Jolie and her arched eybrows don't immidiately bring anyone to mind. She comes swaying towards me with curling blond hair, terrible makeup of which the bright pink lipstick is on one tooth and who is behind her??? A man at least 15 or 20 years her senior weighing in by his own confession at around 275. She runs her clickety nails over the table and oooohs and aaahhhs over it and he is inscructiable. I start sweating. He hasn't decided??? Finally, she bats her eyes, and he whips out the cash... he flips through his $50 bills and hands me a handfull and I feel happy but that this scene is kinda messed up with me in it. Ya know, I'm in a North Face cycling shirt with baggy stained jeans and furry crocs that are three years old. I don't belong in this movie. I could go on with all of the no so shocking things she said or try to describe her "art" but it's midnight and I've run out of steam. Suffice it to say, that one day this week, I really lived a Hollywood moment and met a true gold digger and a true sugga daddy. I went home with a money song in my heart, wondering how her private investigating business was going...