Inspections abound

The scenario is as follows. Suppose you put on what you think is your best outfit, make up, shirt, and gel/hair spray your hair into perfection. You're looking good. Then you invite someone who is a beauty expert to come over and tell you all the things that are wrong with you. (I think this might actually have been the plot of the show True Beauty). At the end of an hour of learning that your face isn't entirely symmetrical, that your pores could be smaller/less red, you're no longer feeling so good about yourself. Like maybe you should go out and get some collagen injections and do a thousand sit ups. You feel like maybe you should just stay in and watch an episode of MacGyver. What a great show.
This is essentially what you do when you ask someone to inspect the home that you're about to pour most of your life-savings/future income/first born child in order to purchase. After three hours of listening to the litany of things that were wrong with our potential purchase I was ready to buy a brand new condo.

Inspector: This dryer doesn't actually have an outlet that pushes the hot air out. You're going to have to figure out what to do with that?
M: I'm the least handy person in the world.
Inspector: Chuckles.
M: (Does this guy think I'm joking?) My way of solving the problem would be to move the dryer outdoors, which might cause other problems. I don't know. I've never really owned a proper dryer except when we were in Santa Barabara and kept it out back.

Thankfully as the day progressed the inspector caught on to my extreme fear of places like Home Depot. Me walking into a store like that is akin to that thing that dogs do when they present a submissive pose to other dominant dogs. Except that my submissive pose, is quickly getting a headache/getting lost/listening to someone (patronizingly, probably inferred) explain what to them seems like a simple process of putting on a door knob and what sounds to me like man traveling to the moon minus a space ship.

HD: So you are just going to want to use your screw driver...
M: Now hold on. Tell me more about this screw driver you speak of.

Anyhow, the whole process is just overtly/incredibly depressing. You'd like to think that if you are bankrupting your future for something that it should be perfect right? I suppose that's a rather unhealthy relationship to have with the home purchase/anything in life/because it doesn't always go perfectly. Perhaps having things go wrong builds character. But at some point I'm hoping to have enough character built up to not have anything go wrong and to live in a big mansion where I swim in piles of money to express glee. Aside: I grew up watching the Disney afternoon and Duck Tales had a profound effect on what my future dreams entail. Mainly a large Egyptian tombesque structure full of gold coins that I can swim in. Is that too much to ask for/want/expect? Probably.