But I've learned something new: deciding to get a divorce and going to a flippin' mediator whose office is shared with a dentist while a cavity drill is screeching in between breaths of the $450 p/hour mediator who really likes to hear himself speak...
That? Is worse.
Patrick and I were exchanging knowing glances, kicking each other to (presumably) keep the other from driving the cavity drill through the mediator's head, and even holding hands under the table.
Because That? Was freakin' painful.
Fortunately we were given the blessing to make the next appointment a phone conference. Where phone conference means setting down the flippin' receiver, having a couple of drinks, and coming back for the "I agree" part.
Because mediators who don't shut up? Might actually be doing a disservice to the profession by bringing Patrick and I closer together when we are trying to divvy the shit up.
Next time a friend needs marriage counseling (yeah right, like they'd ask me), I'm referring them to mediator dude in dentist office. They might actually walk out holding hands.