I Just Can't Shut Up

Poor Mr. D. He just brings out the bossy big sister in me. He is such a nice guy. And, I am sure he is one wildly-competent attorney too. But, none of that matters, because I can't seem to stop telling him what to do.

I have gotten to the point where I am afraid to call him, for fear my mouth will open, give marching orders and he--like the good Southern man that he is--will politely listen. He will then hang up and make a note to bill me for another hour for having to endure me for ten minutes.

He is currently working to find two past deadbeats who owe me money. So, ignoring all of the skip-tracing technology at his fingertips, as well as all of the database search services he has available to him, I suggest him maybe he ought to call the churches of these deadbeats and ask for a current phone number of their biggest deadbeat congregation member. I can even provide him with these churches, because most everyone I speak to in Alabama is very proud of their church affiliation--and they tell me.

I do realize how stupid my suggestion sounds. Mr. D. realizes it too. But, his mother raised him right. Instead, he says, "That's a great idea. I'll get right on that." With that, he hangs up and upps his billable hours.