What I am doing while you are picturing your couch

Showings have a rhythm. You walk in, you react to the light and the layout, you start mentally placing furniture. That is the correct thing for you to be doing. Meanwhile I am usually somewhere less photogenic.

First thing, outside, before we even go in: which way does the ground slope. If it slopes toward the house, water is going somewhere, and in this climate water goes somewhere for about five months a year. I look at gutters, downspouts, and where they discharge. Cheap to fix, expensive to ignore.

Inside, I find the water heater and read the date on it. I find the electrical panel and look at the brand, because a couple of panel types have real safety histories and they matter to insurers. I look at where the furnace is and how old it looks. Those three numbers tell you a lot about what the next five years cost.

I check the corners of ceilings and the base of exterior walls for staining. I look at the fresh paint, specifically the fresh paint that is only in one spot, because paint is the universal language of "I would rather you did not look at this." Sometimes it is decorating. Sometimes it is not.

On rural property the list gets longer. Where is the well head, where is the septic drainfield, is anybody parking on it. What does the pressure tank look like. Are there records.

None of this is about finding a reason to walk away. Most houses have a few of these things and most of them are fine. It is about writing an offer that reflects the house that exists rather than the house in the photos, so that the inspection confirms what we already suspected instead of blowing up the deal in week two.