Notarized

Recently my college cutie and I both had to get something notarized.  (The reason why,  I will share in a later blog).  In my 43 years I think there was one other time I had to do this.  The idea seems very antiquated.  I was surprised to find that UPS stores have notaries so I told my daughter, who lives in another city, to go to her local UPS store too.

I did not know what to expect.  I pictured an old guy in a back room at an old metal desk with a big round embossing thing.  But there were just UPS folks in their blue polos and khakis.  (I guess the brown uniforms are reserved for the hot delivery boys). The blue-polo lady asked me to go over to a counter in the middle of the store.  I met her there with my very important papers.  She had a log book that she put down info. in and looked at my drivers license.  Sitting next to her log book, was a stamp.  There was no round embossing thing.

So after I signed my very important paper and before she signed and stamped her very important paper, she asked me to raise my right hand.

Huh?  In the middle of the store?  Not wanting to be un-notarized, I did it.

She proceeded with something about solemnly swearing that everything I said, did, wrote and thought, was the truth and nothing but.  So help me God.

Really?  In the middle of the store? Who died and made her judge?  She did not flinch or smile.  She was serious.

So with my right hand still in the air, I said yes.  Thinking I was under oath, I then testified that Colonel Mustard did it in the library with the knife.  Or maybe that was just in my head.

I then got to pay $5.00 for the privilege.

I left the store thinking the whole thing a bit odd but supposed that was how it was done.

I then talked to my hubby who snickered at me.  He said he's had things notarized a lot for his business and never had to raise his hand and swear anything.  Well, maybe that is just because he is a cute and charming.

But then I talked to my daughter who went to her own UPS store.  She snickered too.  Well, more like laughed out loud.  No, she did not swear to anything either.

What?  Why me?  Did I find the only notary on a power trip? Was there a hidden camera and they were watching video, on their lunch breaks, of the poor slobs that raised their right hand in the middle of the store?

I think it was racial profiling.

Everyone knows that Caucasian, middle aged moms, are always the first to get the shaft.

Linda

Peep Show

As we continue on our "staging" journey I begin to welcome strange men into my house.  The other day it was "painters".  Very nice Hispanic gentlemen. They were going to be outside all day so I would remain comfortably in my house.

I opened the blinds and curtains of my upstairs master bedroom to let the sunshine in as I do every morning.  I locked to bedroom door to avoid any traumatic encounters with my kids and jumped in the shower.  Ahhh.  Every time I shower I think I should do this more often.  I toweled off and walked into my  master bedroom wearing nothing but what God gave me.

And right outside my bedroom window was Mr. Painter Man.

I squealed (maybe added a swear word or two) and ran into my closet. Holy Crap, I just flashed the poor guy.  I don't think he saw me and was praying for a benefit of the solar shades that the manufacturer never intended.

I got dressed and very casually walked to the window and closed the blinds and curtains.

I texted my husband to tell him about the peep show.  And my sweet husband, who is forever defending my honor, texted this back:

"Make sure he subtracts that value from the total bill."

Or, as I pointed out, they could end up charging us hazard pay.


Linda