[Spice alert. If you are under the age of 16 and happen to be one of my kids, turn back now! Don't read this, or you will go, "Ewwwww! Mom! TMI!"]
For about a month now, Chuck and I have been granted a Protective Order, sheltering us, our family members and my workplace from Chuck’s ex-girlfriend. We sigh with relief and exchange high-fives if we don’t hear from her / her attorney / her home-building contractor / agencies to whom she complains about us for a whole week or ten days!
At first, when the police officer showed up at our door to serve Chuck with a Stalking Injunction, I thought I had stepped through the looking glass. We don’t know where the ex lives, haven’t been in contact, haven’t laid eyes on her in weeks. So it can’t possibly be a Stalking Injunction.
Silly me (and thanks to a quirk in Utah pronunciation)! It was in fact a STOCKING Injunction. Now, a Stocking Injunction? Chuck NEEDS one of those. No stocking is safe from him, especially when it is being held up by one of those cute little garter belts. He’s nuts about them. Black, fishnet, taupe, nude, lacy tops, plain tops, tops with the rubbery self-grip stuff… If I had realized there was such a thing as a Stocking Injunction, I would have filed one AGES ago. He totally deserves it.
Which gets me to Restraining Orders. Isn’t that when I say, “Baby, tie me up?”