They could put anything in there.

Coming from good law stock, naturally I thought I had a strong stomach for contracts. Up until this past week, I thought I did, until I was asked to swallow a 30-page, sign-your life away lease for our quaint (defined as "cute, but pricey") apartment. It was a nail-biter to the end to see what would run out first: my detailed concentration or the pen's ink from signing so many times. The pen won.

My experience with contracts is rather extensive: as an eight year old I tried to trick my parents into getting me dog by writing out an agreement with the words "I will get my son, Jonathan, food" stapled over a sheet with the word "dog" placed under a key part of the other document. After one of my parents had signed it, I would carefully tear out a hole, removing the word "food" so that the contract now read, "I will get my son, Jonathan, a dog." This eventually worked, but the dog didn't. Bark in Peace, Trouble.

At BYU, my leasing contracts generally consisted of very creative clauses. Obviously some students had tried some unusual activities simply because they were not expressly forbidden in their renting contract. Some of the prohibited activities were: "No trampolines on, or near roofs", "Barbecuing indoors is prohibited", and my personal favorite, "No domesticated farm animals may occupy the grounds or apartment; this includes, but is not limited to sheep, horses, cattle, and llamas."

So, we signed our lives away. Despite the writing callouses, we are ecstatic about securing our little home. We are so blessed to have had everything work so well, so far. And after all the paperwork, the rules are kind of a blur. I'm not sure, but I don't think that they said anything about llamas not being welcome, so feel free to pack them along with the trampoline.