In a hot housing market, people push wads of money into your pockets even before you finish pounding the “for sale” sign into the lawn. But when the market cools, that’s when you have to give some thought to how your house “shows.”

And that’s where I shine: tarting up houses.

Consider the attic bathroom in one of our houses: a clawfoot tub, new toilet, ancient sink, linoleum on the floor, dingy paint job. We replaced the sink, slapped on some paint, tore up the linoleum and stained the bare pine floorboards. Then we stuck a floor lamp in one corner and hung framed prints (borrowed) on the walls.

The room looked elegant and undoubtedly helped sell the place. But ask yourself: what good is a floor lamp in a bathroom? And how long will those prints stand up to humidity? And where will the water drain on that wood floor?

That’s what tarting up is all about.

In another house, we had a dank and dusty basement corner. I put up a couple of sawhorses and spread a sheet of plywood. Then I rigged a light and laid out a few tools and a couple of pots of glue and a broken chair. I even sprinkled a little sawdust on the floor. It looked like a craftsman’s corner. And what’s more important, it made the basement look useful.

It is important to do nothing illegal when prepping a house, and it is well not to be around when would-be buyers appear. Because they can ask questions and you would have to answer them.

For example, another of our houses had a third-floor bathroom, no beauty but a bathroom all the same. Save for the fact that the bathtub drained into the second-floor linen closet. Something I discovered after buying the house. You could have a bath, but you then had to scoop water out of the tub with a pail and pour it into the sink.

If questioned closely, I would have to admit this. My solution was to tell the real estate agent.

Charm goes a long way in selling houses. There was one we bought that sat on a ravine in what was almost a good part of the city. And when it came time to sell in the spring, the rear doors would open to the deck, which was cantilevered out over the ravine. There was even a set of steps leading partway down to a creek. So far, so good.

Yes, you could get down the slope. But one false step and you could roll 100 feet. And if you wanted to get back up, it was handy to have a rope.

In addition, strange people would sometimes appear on our hill. Once, it was police with dogs looking for an escaped prisoner. Once, a hiker who thought she was on a public right of way. Usually, it was herds of racoons. The thought of a ravine lot was a good selling point; the actuality was perhaps less appealing.

When you are looking to create actual appeal when you are selling a house, there are some easy steps you can take. Pots of tulips, for example. As a buyer, you enter the house and see a pot of tulips and you think, “How nice.” Two pots of tulips, and you think it is perhaps overdone. Three or more, and you know that Fluffy has thrown up her chicken liver all over this carpet.

Another easy step is closets. Take half of everything you own and give it away. In theory, this will give you nice, roomy closets. And what would you rather have, a sold house or clothes so old the pants have bell bottoms?

I should be honest with you and admit that while I think I know a lot about selling, I have flunked buying — time after time. I have bought houses with mud basements, holes in the roof, skylights put in backward, doors that opened onto drops of 10 to 15 feet and a two-storey place with no stairway. And one place that had five pots of tulips on the living-room carpet. I thought at the time that it was a nice, spring touch.

I was wrong. IE