Fine Print

“I am married to a chimpanzee.”

I could never decide if Cheryl was proud of her choice or disgusted.

Apparently, because of my impatience with reading fine print, I have caused occasional dissension in our marriage.

“Do you remember what we promised in our wedding vows?” she asked in frustration.

“Can I see a copy? I wasn’t really listening to what I said.”

Terms of Agreement

I know I’m not alone in this. When I reach the portion of an online sign-up and must accept or cancel to complete the activation, I notice in small, italicized print the words, Terms of Agreement. Out of curiosity I tap it. It brings up endless legalese.

Flipping through the 110 pages, looking only for key words such as, body parts, or first child, I think, “blah, blah, blah.” If there is anything shady hidden in this mess, surely someone else would have found it and alerted the authorities. I tap the Accept link and move on.

This is how I got stuck in a binding agreement with a timeshare company. I didn’t read the contract in the presence of two lawyers.

“A chimpanzee, I married a chimpanzee!”

I am assuming she didn’t mean that as a compliment either.

It seems that I have found two things to be true: 1) Companies like to hide important information in small print. 2) I don’t have the patience to read the small print.

Most terms of agreement include minor irritants such as: when entering an online contest, you are immediately plastered with emails and texts concerning their products. I just consider this collateral damage for being able to enter their contest. Some TAGs explain what the corporation is, and is not liable for, or what I am liable for.

“It would behoove you to sit down with your Legal Terminology for Dummies book and read through the fine print before you accept something from now on,” Cheryl warned. I wondered why I am the one who must do this if she is so concerned.

But, when I was handed a ream of paperwork from my financial planner concerning extended care insurance, I did sit down and read every page and I made an informed decision. It was painful and took two ibuprofens to complete and I may have scanned quickly through some paragraphs because the Hogan’s Heroes reruns were to start soon.

And then I became sloppy again. I was looking for an Eastern Caribbean cruise out of Florida. We had a specific week in mind which coincided with my vacation at work and, as luck would have it, I found a Princess cruise out of Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

“Hey babe, I found one that is everything we are looking for. With a balcony room and airfare, it’s only going to cost $800.00 per person. Should I grab it?”

“What’s in the fine print?” she questioned, like she suspected I was going to screw it up again.

“It’s fine,” I said. “It’s a bargain.”

That February we flew out of SeaTac to Fort Lauderdale and took the shuttle bus to the cruise ship moorage.

At the cruise terminal, Cheryl and I entered the cattle line which zigzagged back and forth through the expansive building. I thought it odd that the ratio of women to men was about ten to one. One group of young ladies behind us all stood over 6’2″ and they were from Germany.

“Hmmm, must be volleyball teams or some type of sports groups.”

Once on board and settled into our room we sat on our balcony and enjoyed the sun as the ship left the harbor.

The next day was spent at sea and the sun was bright in the sky. After breakfast we changed into our suits and went to find the pools. There was a large pool midship and one at the stern.

“You check out the midship pool and I will check out the one in the stern,” I said to Cheryl. “Save me a lounge chair.”

Dressed in my swimsuit and Crocks, with a towel over my shoulder, I walked through the lido deck to the pool at the stern. Walking out into the open air of the pool area there were two things I immediately noticed: 1) there were nothing but scantily clad women at this pool and most were lying two to a lounge chair. 2) they were giving me angry looks like I wasn’t welcome. I backed my way out of the pool area. We spent the day using the midship pool.

That evening, the cruise entertainment director announced that it was going to be Karaoke night in the lounge. Cheryl has a marvelous singing voice and has some experience singing Karaoke.

“You should sing,” I urged her.

“No way!  There are too many things that can go wrong singing Karaoke.”

“Come on. You will be great. Let’s go look at the song catalog.”

With much pulling by me and reluctance on her part, I got her to the stage to choose a song. She chose From This Moment On by Shania Twain.

“Ladies and gentlemen, from Washington State, Cheryl Mitchell will be singing, From This Moment On. Let’s give her a hand.”

There were eight tables across the front. Each table held eight women. Even before Cheryl made it to the center stage mic, the women were standing, clapping loudly, and whistling. As she went through the song, the women went wild.

“This encouragement should chase her butterflies away,” I thought.

When the song ended, the women in the audience gave her a standing ovation as she walked back to join me.

“They love me!” she squealed. “I may do another one.”

Just then the entertainment director worked his way back to us.

“Well, you appear to be a hit. Would you like to do another?” he asked.

“I guess, if they like the way I sing,” Cheryl answered.

“One question,” I cut in. “Why are there so few men on the ship?”

“Well, this is a lesbian cruise.” he answered.

“What?” I asked.

“What?” Cheryl echoed, giving me a stare that burned a hole in my head.

“It was written clearly in the description,” he pointed out.

Cheryl left the lounge. She didn’t say much, but over the noise of the crowd I thought I heard her say something about a chimpanzee.

Faith Family Life Getting Older Growing Up Misadventures Music Patriotism Pets or Pests? Snips Tributes