I’m purchasing a house this year. This means only one thing; I have stacks of paperwork approximately as high as myself to fill out. Luckily most of my family deals in business and thus are overseeing the various processes for me which is a good thing for a number of reasons. First off, I just finished National Novel Writing Month, and yes I did write my fifty thousandth word at eleven forty five last Saturday night. This came at the cost of being a grown up and ironically posting on my blog with any sort of regularity. Happily my family has understood. When my Aunty Camelia, who is acting as my mortgage broker, would call me asking for important documents there was no judgment when I replied “Ummm, I’m kind of busy right now, I’ve got a whole lot of lemon berry frozen yoghurt to eat and Real Housewives to watch.”
My Dad has been handling the transfer of monies and whatnot. This too involves mass amounts of mail being sent to my house. There were a lot of conversations like this during the past month
Dad “Did you receive the papers that my assistant William sent you?”
The Great Unwashed “Yes, they’re sitting right in front of me.”
Dad “Are you going to sign them?”
The Great Unwashed “Absolutely not”
My Dad has always dealt with all my financial affairs and up until recently everything in my life was good because of his secretary Cadence. Dad’s secretary and I had a great understanding. She would send me nice little notes written in her bubble letter print reminding me to sign things and when I forgot about them she would call me and ask in her sweet way for me to remember. It worked great.
And then she got pregnant and has been off spending time with her baby. I’m terribly happy for her and William, the man who has taken her place is extremely kind however he is all about protocol and not bubble letters or frequent voice mails telling me to file papers.
Finally this past weekend I ventured home and my Dad and I went through and signed all of the documents. On the top of the pile was one of William’s many introductory letters explaining what the pages he had sent me were. It was terribly professional with the company letter head and everything which was why I couldn’t sign the papers alone. Clearly if a letter was required this was serious business and it’s doubtful whether I should be trusted with something such as that. Fortunately I figured out a solution; along with a blank cheque that I still need to send to my father’s office, I’m going to include a note to his assistant.
Thanks so much for sending me everything. In the future it would be more helpful if you sent a note that looked like this, written on a coffee stained post it rather than intimidating business like letters.
Ur Dad wants u to sine this.
My father’s assistant may argue that corresponding in this way isn’t professional however I am not professional, so it works.
Good luck to you with the house, and the paperwork. My husband fills your Dad’s role. I have made him swear that I get to die first. I hate paperwork.
I am very quickly learning to loathe it too.
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