Wednesday, July 30, 2008

lawyered up

Sorry if you've been waiting on this, although I'm sure you haven't been. Firstly, I have been off trekking the Inca trail. Easy :) Secondly, this, the fourth column, is a total rip off of a blog i wrote a while back. Seriously, it's almost word for word. I'm only posting it so I have a record of all my columns.

I have a lawyer and I’m not afraid to use him. Actually, that’s a lie. I do, in fact, have a lawyer but I am utterly afraid to use him.

Update: I am getting a divorce. Probably the most frustrating thing about that is I have never been married. Huh? Okay, so I’m not actually getting a divorce, but may as well be.

Mr X and I owned property. Moguls, for shizzle. So we have to get a separation agreement. Even though we are amicable, and smart, and can sit down over a coffee or three and split possessions in a fair and rational manner, the world says "nope, sorry, you have a pay a lawyer an outlandish sum of money so they can turn your completely logical ideas and conclusions into jargon that resembles Japanese more so than English. Because you don't understand what they are saying, or what you're reading, you'll succumb to their jaw-dropping fees just to get the hell out of their office and finally farewell the situation you're in".


This is my life at the moment. X's lawyer writes document. Posts it to me (even though X could have just given it to me when we caught up for coffee two days earlier) with 800 canary-yellow stickers which say SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE, SIGN HERE...you get the point.


I choose not to even look at it. En route to MY lawyer, for no apparent reason other than a build up of "this sucks", I start to cry. Fool. I find a park, compose myself and walk towards MY lawyer's office. I walk in.

"Hi, I have a 12 o'clock with *i can feel that, piss off throat lump, not in front of the receptionist* David Johnson," phew, survival."No worries, take a seat."

Now, this is no doctor’s surgery. There's no New Idea from September, 1997 to help me take my mind of things. This is particularly unfortunate because I was really hoping for an update on Princess Di. Did you know she died? Seriously.

"Hi Kate, how are you? My name's Alice, come on through"


First thought; you're delightful. Second; you're not David. David is on his way back from Brisbane apparently. Alice will start of our consultation by getting the background.

"Let's start at the start," says Alice. Good plan. My response, tears. She is empathetic, and searches for tissues. I am mortified. For as long as I can remember, I have been the kind of girl to play the hardarse card. Want vulnerability? You will NOT find it here. But then I figure, Alice doesn't know this, or me...more tears.


"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...I'm fine." Mmm, obviously. We proceed. Life story is told, peppered with teary episodes. David arrives. Goddamit, it's so much easier to cry in front of women. I just know they're both thinking I have been left at the altar or experienced some equally horrific, one-sided breakup but, no, just having an emotional day.

I think one of the things that really scares me is I've come to the point of requiring a lawyer. That I actually need a third party to give me professional advice, assistance and a whopping bill.

I don't even have my own accountant. I don't even have my own doctor. I *sob* don't *sob* even *sob* have *sob* a *sob* booooooyfriiiend *waaaaaaaaaa*


Over it though. Really.

3 comments:

Rick M said...

I was waiting on this. But I guess I'll start waiting all over again.

I think I said it before, but seeing as we are cheating here, I'll say it again: lawyers have no soul.

clare said...

Not impressed with a repeat, Count Jackula. You are worse than channel nine.

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl said...

hahhaha! worse than channel nine!! suffer in your jocks jacka - that's about the worst put down i have heard in ages.. reminds me of Harry Francis's call to me at the farmers home at Christmas "You're off again Kirsty? Jeez, you've had more farewells than John Farnham!". Pure Francis Gold.

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