Sunday, I’m in the yard. Nothing makes me happier than power equipment. Mulching machine chomping up autumn leaves. My troubles are few when I’m yielding anything with 2 1/2 horsepower engine.
Coming back inside there’s a letter on my desk. It’s from my wife. It’s a draft contract. The two page document has nine (9) deal points. I start reading. Item #1 says I must take an active interest in the up bringing of my children. OK – thought I was doing that already. Item #2 says I will limit all extra marital activity to out of town events. Am I reading this correctly? It goes on. Item #7 says I will not put my friend’s needs ahead of my family.
I batphone Peter. He agrees this calls for an immediate BFF (best friends forever) conference. Off to the bat cave, I race to pick-up him up for brunch. He reeks of alcohol and other scents, that I’m trying not to place.
Ordering a dozen oysters and a Bloody Mary, he’s scanning the contract. “Holy bill of rights, Batman!”, Peter shouts. “This is serious news.” I, too, am struggling to understand. Peter is gleefully referring to Item #7 as the “Peter Law” because he believe it applies solely to him.
My wife has basically folded her cards, she’s negotiating with herself, never write a draft contract that isn’t to your advantage. I fear this is a desperate women in desperate times. She’s running out of options.
I haven’t formed an opinion yet. I’m thinking. She’s thinking.
What do you think?