Got “served” with my divorce papers on Saturday. Sounds worse than it is. With an amicable divorce you don’t actually get served. Some guy doesn’t sneak up on and just say your name and then shove an envelope in your hands. In an amicable divorce the papers are mailed to you.
And you know that there coming, which is hard enough, the anticipation of their impending arrival. Dunt dunt da! I can’t imagine just suddenly getting slapped with them. That would suck. It does suck, according the people I’ve encountered who have experienced it.
Still, when I got the envelope my heart sunk into my stomach. My throat got dry. Saddness poured through my a slow, sticky liquid. Yuck!
I didn’t sign them right away. I let them sit until Sunday evening. Then, after confirming what I was supposed to mail back with C, I signed where the sticky note said to sign, folded the document and slid into the postage-paid envelope provided. Then I stuck it out in the mailbox. It would have been picked up yesterday and will probably be delivered today. No doubt it will be filed before the end of this week.
Another step in the process down.
