My Modeling Career

My modeling career began long ago. I was in the fifth grade and talked my mom into paying for me to get Glamour Shots. We giddily walked through the mall, and then grinned as the hair stylist ran her fingers through my curls and the makeup artist painted my lips and doted on my features. Then came wardrobe. They put me in a pink netted shawl and black gloves. I had found my calling. I was to be a super model.

But the modeling career didn’t stop there. After those fateful Glamour Shots were taken there was New York Fashion Week, Paris runways, and then Italy. (I mean, I visited New York once, and it could have been Fashion Week. I forgot to check my calendar. And I went to Paris, too. I’ve never been to Italy though. That part is a total lie.)

And now, the time has come for me to display my modeling savvy again. Today, I am a model mortgage client.

See, remember how I told you I am buying a house? Well said house is coming along nicely and it’s time for me to start turning in my paperwork for my mortgage.

Just the Assistant and Just the Dog standing in front of their future digs.

And this Just the Assistant knows how important it is to turn in mortgage documents in a timely fashion (and you can know too, by reading this handy chart).

Oh, you need my bank statements? Every page, you say? Boom. Done. You need my W-2s from last year? They’re already in your inbox. Want me to docusign this contract? Hmm? Did it yesterday. The rest of the office is gushing all over me, telling me what a model client I am, and I’m all like, “Oh stop it. Now fetch me some chilled water.”

Below, I model how to properly turn in loan documents.

Except you can email them in since your cube doesn’t back up to our loan coordinator’s cube like mine does.

I had planned on wrapping up this post here, but my mother has derailed me. Before writing this post I asked her to find my old Glamour Shots and text them to me. Well, apparently, Mom started having a field day once she opened the ole family picture albums, and she’s sending me ridiculous pictures of myself left and right.

Mom and I call this one “The Wrastler” because I look like I’ve had my eyes punched closed in a wrestling tournament. And because whenever she talks about the day I was born she says, “You looked horrible! Like a wrastler!”

Who turned out the lights?

While I go buy frames for my Glamour Shots that I plan to hang in the new house, you all subscribe to my blog on the right and become model mortgage clients yourselves. Oh, and team? I’ll take that chilled water now.