The Transition Plan

Just like the UK's exit from the European Union--well, maybe not exactly just like it--we too have an exit plan. A good portion of it was completed prior to dissolving. But some had to wait until we finished. All of this was laid out the Dissolution Agreement.

What was getting on my nerves by Thursday morning was the countless questions Mr. Partner had about relatively simple things. Granted, he is new at managing homes in Alabama, some of these items were more than simple. For example, Kirby is my HVAC guy (and real estate agent). Was he to write one check and put the homes in the memo line, or one check for the work done at each home? And while we were talking about Kirby, who authorized him to work on the ACs on these homes anyway? That kind of simple. (And for the record, I don't care if he writes one check or more. I doubt Kirby cares either.)

At one point I grumbled to Marty, "You know, I did this for 14 years without anyone holding my hand. I managed. Why can't this man can't handle 14 hours on his own?"

And then, as if Mr. Partner was magically standing in the doorway, eavesdropping, he called Marty, right then and there. He and Mrs. Partner had a "brilliant" idea! Why don't Mr. Partner and I go on a trip to Birmingham and I can introduce him to everyone? I didn't get a chance to practice my withering look on Marty before he replied into the phone, "What a great idea!" and then to me, he added, "When do you want to go?"

Of course, that is a loaded question, because the answer is never. I never want to go. I have been there. With very few exceptions, I have no reason to want to go back. And the idea of spending days of quality time with Mr. Partner while he relives ancient history of how we got to the moment of time we split the homes and then questions every decision I made up until when he took back over his homes, did not sit well with me (seriously, Kirby charged me  $75 for an AC fix and he questioned if I could have done better and when had been the last time I shopped around for such services?). Nor did him seeing that Marty and I inadvertently got the better homes (I swear, it was happenstance--we also have higher mortgages and less stable tenants) sound like a great use of my time. Given how selective his memory happens to be, I don't see this boding well--and I will be the one who hears about it first.

But what really got me about his phone call was that sometime early during the Prexit process this idea was bandied about. It was brought up once as an afterthought. That said, Mr. Partner could not remember anything of significance for the past two weeks, but somewhere in the recesses of his memory, he came up with the conversation where I agreed to go to Birmingham with him. His selective memory is maddening. As we left it, I conceded to go, but refused to commit to a date. I am really sure I am busy for the next few months. My selective memory may make me forget this too.