I’ve decided to put an end to my public persona as a lawyer. No more bar dues for me! Sorry, Mah and Daddy, but the charade has run its course.
In my blindly earnest efforts to please my parents, I went to school far longer than I should have. Now, I was good at it, but essentially I had zero interest in pursuing any of the academic areas in which I studied. My final hurrah was law school, which was three years of ratchet motion propelling me forward. The next thing I knew, I was graduated, but, boy, did I hate it. As a face saving measure, I did pass the California Bar Exam, which is no piece of cake, my friends. It took me three tries, but, dammit, I was admitted to the bar.
Of course, the little time I spent working in law offices, courtesy of referrals from friends and Uncle Fred, was excruciating. Literally. I developed migraines. Could Not Stand It.
I’m one of the select few law school graduates who ended up working in the UCSF temp pool. (From which I was fired – but that’s a story for another day. Maybe tomorrow, if you’re lucky.) As it turns out, pride does goeth before a fall. Yet I clung to my (inactive) bar membership, as if to show I could be practicing law, I just happened not to be doing so.
Jump ahead 25 years and I’m done. All credit goes to Sassafrass, who put her dainty finger directly on point: “Why are you paying those dues year after year? After all, you could buy a handbag, which you know you’d prefer.” Hell, yeah, I would. The Lord & Master wanted me to maintain my membership as a tax deductible expense. He loves tax deductible expenses. Enough of that.
I am what I am. And what I am is not really a lawyer. Let’s put it this way, I’m a lawyer like Daddy’s a businessman. A businessman who attended Harvard Business School, yet never invested a penny, let alone a dime, in a pension, IRA, nada. Not even a plain old savings account. I am Daddy’s daughter, a false front. Do not be fooled. And, for heaven’s sake, do not ask me for legal advice.