As a real estate agent it is important to stay fit and healthy!

There is nothing worse than presenting an offer with a runny nose sniffling and coughing, or walking up a long flight of stairs showing potential buyers how easy the access is whilst puffing, panting and leaning over miserably hanging onto their arms as you make your way up out of breath from talking about how easy the access is and what a wonderful view the property has.

So yes, ideally, fitness is important as a cornerstone of your profession.

It was with this in mind one sunny winter’s morning that I casually agreed to my eldest son’s invitation to a game of squash at the local university where he was enrolled.

Of course I had no idea how long it was since I had played the game, but I rather fondly imagined that I was pretty good, and said to him “ what a brilliant idea! I will meet you there after work!”

I started the search for my squash racket frantically as soon as he had left for university. I knew that it was rather an expensive one in a shiny leather holder, and so I got out the small ladder to look into the back depths the top cupboards of the wardrobe.

I also wanted to search for my snazzy little pleated skirt and the frilly pants that went with it.

I felt excited at the thought of being able to show off my prowess once again on the squash court and was happily imagining my past efforts.

Fleetingly I did think that hopefully this was not a case of “the older I got the faster and better I was at the game?”

As the dusty box fell on top of my head from above, I looked down to see a tatty leather holder with an even tattier racket handle sticking out of the cover.

There were some squash balls tucked into the cover.

Sadly, they were now melted into the racket having disintegrated into the frame after many years of storage.

I frowned…”Never mind, I would shoot into the sports shop in my lunch hour and buy a better one ” I thought as I excitedly unpacked my pleated skirt and frilly pants.

“Aah! These look okay” I smiled with pleasure and shoved them into a bag with a teeshirt…that would do nicely.

Traffic was heavy that day as I wound my way through the busy streets to my first appointment.

Number 48 had a hideous house hidden up a nasty steep driveway with a surly cat who always barred my entrance to the house for some reason.

Molly, the seller, was a nice Scottish lady though.

She was downsizing after her miserable git of a husband moved on with a younger model. Her words not mine!

Apparently he had met his new girlfriend at work.

I was thinking about the photo that Molly had shown me of her soon to be ex-husband. It was taken at his office Christmas party where he had been standing next to the girl that he had chosen to have “the” affair with.

I remember gasping, thinking that the girl in the photo was not only ugly with her patchwork pimples, but could easily have been his daughter.

Poor Molly, I thought.

Molly told me that her ex had never been much of a gardener and had left everything to go to seed and ruin.

As I surveyed the entrance to the front of the property, I was glad that it now looked slightly better, especially since we had got my gardener contact “Hairy Hedges” in.

He had done what he could to make the property a little more presentable.

I spotted Molly standing nervously at the front door waiting for me, smiling quietly in greeting. I had first home buyers that day wanting to view, so Molly was making a dash for it, to keep out of the way she had said.

I secretly wished she would take Tabitha her surly cat with her, as for some reason the cat had not warmed to me, nor me to her.

She walked up to me with her saucy swagger as I entered the front door and I noticed her stretching out one sharp little clawed paw on the carpet in front of me.

“Was that a warning? Was she going to pounce on me?”

I tried not to get anxious, but the hair on my neck prickled in fear.

Tabitha was a mean cat.

The last time I was on my own with her, she had clawed my nice skirt pulling threads out of it for no reason other than she wanted attention. I chased her off after that with a hiss.

She had hissed back at me in reply, flexing her nails and giving me her beady eye.

Molly said over her shoulder as she left to no-one in particular I thought “Tabs, now do be polite and be nice to everyone won’t you?”

I watched the surly cat walk off in a huff and hoped it would stay away while I showed my buyers through the home.

Not everyone liked animals and I remembered one man who could not stop sneezing even though there were no pets in sight. He said he could smell pet dandruff!

The day passed really quickly, so I dashed into the Sports shop and got advice on squash rackets.

A young pumped up man in a tight shirt with his hair loaded with greasy product came over to give me advice. “So what level are you at?” He drawled in his know everything about squash way.

“Oh , I was terribly good once upon a time” “But I don’t want anything too heavy as I am going to play a game tonight with my son, and I don’t want to win by such a big margin, as that won’t be good for any young man’s ego will it?”I chatted away.

I gasped at the price tags on the shiny new one I had picked up. “ My goodness! Is this what they cost now ?”

I struggled to keep my facial expressions under control.

No need to alert the young man to my lack of appetite for expensive unnecessary squash racket purchases, now was there? After all, the money saved could buy another pair of rather nice high heeled unsuitable red shoes?

With my new squash racket safely clutched in my possession, I got back into the car to drive to a “building inspection”.

It was not far from the university, so I thought I would have plenty of time to have a quick few push ups maybe before I met my son for the much anticipated game of squash.

A thought fleetingly passed over me “Golly…I hope the skirt still fits!”.

The Building inspector eventually arrived and waved hello to me. I opened up the house for him and told him that if he had any questions to please ask and made my way over to the dining room table to continue with some work on my laptop.

Building inspections were usually very thorough, sometimes taking a few hours.

He was taking his sweet time though I noticed after 2 and a half hours…the clock was ticking!

He seemed very professional which was good, but then he did seem to be noting everything he possibly could …. I noticed how his mouth twisted in distaste as he wrote his report.

The house was not brand new. I felt I had to point this out to the inspector several times as he tut tutted his way through his report tapping this and that…sighing in frustration when he could not get the stove to work.

He actually snapped at me at one stage when I suggested nicely that in order for the Smeg oven to work, one had to set the clock first.

Later, I realised he must have already put that down as “not functioning “ so that was the reason for the snapping. I resolved to tighten my lips.

No good getting on his bad side now was there? As he chipped away at some loose paint on a window frame, I wondered if he would be much longer.

He had told me that it was his last one for the day and I realised then that he had time to kill.

The report would be a long one I imagined…every window with a scratch itemised and every mark on every wall no doubt, which was par for the course.

At last, he was packing up and ready to go.

I waved farewell to him and then locked up the property, making sure all the lights were off.

He had left a trail of “un-switched off lights” and heaters left on in his wake, so much to sort out and switch off. I only had minutes to spare for the squash game, so raced over to the university grounds to meet my son.

He was waiting at the front entrance to a large set of steps. “ Come on Mum, let’s go get changed”. “I have booked the courts for an hour” he chatted as he bounded easily up the hundreds of steps.

I was red in the face and breathing heavily as I got to the top of the stairs “One hour on a squash court” Surely that can’t be right…I started to worry!

After that run up the stairs I was ready for a lie down! He showed me to the Ladies changing room.

I struggled as I pulled the very tight pleated skirt on up over my thighs and then put on the glamorous frilly pants.

Had the skirt shrunk in the wash I wondered? My pom pom socks looked fine, and the tee-shirt was okay, but the waist band to the skirt was a little tight.

I loosened the top 3 buttons “aah that feels better!” I was ready. No, just one moment, I thought. I reached into my holdall bag to get my fancy squash type pink and white headband.

I definitely needed to keep my long hair out of my eyes in order to put in the most accurate shots I thought, and so pulled it down in a professional squash player type of style.

I definitely looked the part I thought smiling at reflection in the mirror! The other occupant of the ladies change room was smiling oddly at her reflection.

I wondered if she was jealous of my professional attire. She seemed to be looking longingly I noticed at my pom pom socks.

She was only in a pair of boxy white shorts and a teeshirt with nasty looking ankle socks! Heavens I thought, the young of today!

Not much style sense indeed! She would look good in frilly pants I mused.

My son was already pounding the little black ball against the squash court walls.

The thud and speed of the balls alarmed me. “Golly, he is good” I thought in a panic.

My competitive spirit rose to the fore and I bounced onto the court in a very professional squash like way, with my pleated skirt swinging and my frilly pants swishing backwards and forwards and started to warm up.

My son laughed out loud “Mum, what on earth are you wearing?”

“ Well, you might ask, my boy, when I was your age, I was quite the player, just you wait and see!”

“Right, who wants to go first?”I demanded, warm up suddenly forgotten in my eagerness to beat him!

We got right into the game and I had been playing for at least 30 minutes, but this was later refuted by my son, who said it was less than 3 minutes, when I fell to the ground in agony.

My hamstrings happened. I could not move. I was in agony, writhing in pain on the court.

I had no idea what hamstrings were and cared not!

It took my son with the help of a nice young man to get me into his car to take me home.

My car stayed at the university.

I recovered after 10 days of sheer hell, and resolved to get fitter.

In fact, the state of my fitness over their teenage years, was discussed frequently at the dinner table by my sporting sons as if I was not even present. I had failed miserably at Gym, Squash, Body Boarding, Golf and many other physical activities, where they were determined to beat me, all throughout their teenage years.

My ski-ing attempts were okay I thought, even the last one where the row of foreign tourists went down like dominoes to prevent me injuring myself further, when I was speed ski-ing down the mountain.

I did feel that it was very generous of them and thanked them all and laughed with them all later in the canteen speaking in my best international sign language.

My husband told me later that the spectacle of me racing downhill uncontrollably into a crowd queuing for the lift was hilarious.

I had lost my pole sadly, and that had caused that accident, but those sorts of things happen to everybody don’t they?

I was certain that my teenage sons would not be able to keep up with me most days, showing house after house, dodging traffic jam after traffic jam by shortcuts across the city and still being able to cook the dinner, fold the washing, take them to their sport, and then to collect them in the early hours on a weekend after partying.

Their day would come I thought if they were lucky enough to be blessed with children as I had been.

Keeping fit for the job of course especially as we get older is important, so I have decided to take up another sport besides watching sport.

That still takes an awful lot of effort on a winter’s morning to stand on the side lines of a rugby game trying to keep warm. I usually have to pump my arms several times to warm them on the coffee mug.

My first round of Golf is coming up soon. I just need to find a suitable outfit first.

Perhaps a nice pair of brogue type trousers and a posh blouse? And some of those shoes with the spikes in them?

I am thinking pony tail with headband or sleek golfing cap. We will see. I don’t want to be useless AND not dressed properly for the occasion now do I?

©2022 gentlelifehacks.com|e-propertymatters.com| Author| Katie