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Call Her “Zippy”

I met up with the buyers’ attorney as we both walked from the parking lot to the closing office. My teeth were chattering, yet she wasn’t wearing a coat.

I stammered, “Aren’t you c-c-c-c-cold?” She replied, “Hell, yeah! But I’ll tell you why I don’t have a coat when we get in the building.”

True to her word, she gave me the scoop inside. It seems she has a warm coat with a long zipper, and as is her habit, she zipped herself in before heading to a closing a few days ago. When she arrived, she tried to unzip the coat, and found it stuck.

“At first, I thought I’ll just wear it and be a little warm,” she related. “But then I got really hot, so I tried again to unzip it.”

After seeing her struggle, the title closer offered to help.     He yanked so hard he split part of the zipper, or as the tale-teller told it, she was zipped “at the neck and around my pelvis, but with a gaping hole around my navel.”

Though we were skirting the TMI limits that should always remain between colleagues, I let her keep talking as she described what happened next. “I tried to emerge out of the middle of the jacket, but my arms got stuck. I fell over, knocked all the bank docs to the floor, then bumped my head on the conference table as I got up.”

We had to get our present closing started, so I rushed her to get to the end. The final tally was one annoyed bank attorney, one ripped jacket, one bumped head, one watch strap that caught on a sleeve and broke, and 25 or so pearls that scattered everywhere after she ripped the strand around her neck while trying to get back into her coat after escape proved futile.

See, Mom? All those times you were urging me to zip my coat, but I resisted?  I was just trying to avoid getting into a habit that would leave me bruised, embarrassed, and pearl-less.



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October 2018


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