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Kicking Butt & Taking Names

The attorney was a petty little tyrant.   She seemed bent on intimidating everyone at the table, but her audience was less than cowed. My client rolled her eyes, the bank attorney walked out just about every time she opened her mouth, and the title closer was definitely making unnecessary telephone calls. This seemed to so infuriate the devil that she dialed-up her diatribes.

My client’s sister had come along to lend moral support. She remained in the background until she could no longer stand the relentless bullying. Once she spoke up and made eye contact, the browbeater pounced.

“What’s your name?” Ms. Demonic demanded.

“July,” said the woman.

In a scolding tone of voice usually associated with unruly toddlers and accident-prone puppies, the toothless tormentor spoke slowly and loudly.

“Nooooooooooo. I. Asked. You. Your. NAME!”

The sisterly savior sighed and said, “My name is July. That’s when I was conceived. If you have a problem with that, talk to my mother.”

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