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These Kids Were Not All Right

Many years ago, I represented the sellers in a deal where the buyers brought their two toddlers to the closing.  They set them up to play under the huge conference table, and then proceeded to ignore them as they reviewed mortgage documents.

The pervasive smell of Goldfish cheddar crackers filled the room, with a distinct undertone of stale diaper.  As the parents were oblivious, the rest of us all tried to focus on our responsibilities, too, despite immediate distractions.  “Ouch!” screamed one of my clients, who’d had a metal toy truck strike her in the leg.  “Ouch!” yelled the title closer soon after, as she was stabbed with something or other in the foot.  “Hey!” I yelled as one of the wicked wee ones grabbed, pulled, and put a hole in my hosiery.

“Enough!” yelled the bank attorney, as he spied the two mini-Monets using fistfuls of crayons to decorate the underside of his cherrywood conference table. He loudly and semi-profanely demanded that one of the parents take the tykes outside while the other signed, and then they could switch places.

“We’d rather not,” said the Mom.  “But we will if it helps with your blood pressure.”

The rest of the conversation is unprintable.

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