Dr. L. Panel

Today Stephen wrote his own ticket to divorce court. And if I were to get a female judge, I would make out like a freekin’ bandit.

We applied for a fence permit for the area in front of our house that runs the perimeter of the road. All we want is a simple white fence, but in this glorious town of ours, we are required by law (and they don’t fuck around) to get a permit.

This morning I came downstairs in to my kitchen to find a note from Stephen attached to the fence application form to “please drop off at town hall.” I quickly glanced over it and this is how he had filled it out:

Address of property: (he gave our address)

Town of property: (he told them the town we live in)

Description of fence: (he did this fairly accurately)

Location of fence: (and the mother fucking moron wrote “Katonah, NY")

I had to cross that out and write “the fence will run along the front property line adjacent to the street."

This was ALMOST as good as the time that Stephen got upset with the local medical group over billing me for a doctor that I had never seen. He said “Didi, who is this Dr. Lipid Panel?”

I said “Lipid Panel??!?!?! LIPID PANEL????!“

He thought that when the lab sent my blood out to be tested and it was charged as “lipid panel “, it was really for an Indian doctor named Dr. Lipid Panel. (He was pronouncing it Lipid Pannell.)

Genius. I married a g-d dammed genius.