Escrow? I don't know escrow. (But escrow been berry, berry good to me.)

When it comes to business, I'm not all that smart. I know numbers, but I'm a whole lot better with abstract numbers than with numbers that mean something. That's why, when I send the Boss a cost report, sometimes I won't notice if it's out of whack. All I've done is plug the raw numbers into the right slots. If something's wrong, it's not the numbers. It's the slots. The slots are where I run into trouble.

We've apparently closed escrow on the Kennel. I signed a piece of paper today that will make me a partner in this venture. I think.

See, this is where my business myopia comes in. The Boss phoned this morning and told me he needed my signature in blue ink on something for the title company. (At least, I think he said it was for the title company.) He faxed me the sheet, a single page with several lines for signatures. One of the lines had my name on it, so I signed it. In blue ink.

Obviously I couldn't fax it back. (The blue would have turned to black, don't you know.) So I had to drive a few miles to meet him and hand him my blue signature. He's taking it to the title company tomorrow.

When I got home, I started thinking about it. I have no idea what I signed. It was page 6 or 18 or 30 (I don't know for sure, because I didn't think to keep a copy) of a document whose other 5 or 17 or 29 pages might commit me to almost anything. See what I mean? I can count, but thinking seems to be beyond the scope of my job description lately.

It's a good thing I trust the Boss completely to do the right thing and look out for my interests and make sure I'm not signing up for something that will land me in jail or the poorhouse or a refrigerator carton under an overpass. It's a good thing he's a completely honorable man who has never done an underhanded thing in his life. It's a good thing I don't have a clue what I'm getting into, because then I might worry.