June 28, 1999 (#26), (and before ...)

Honey buns,

What a busy little popover I've been lately. Hardly had a minute to think about any of you. But don't let my lack of attention be confused for lack of fondness. If you do I'll be insulted and that's hardly any way to start of f the summer. Or rather, continue with the summer, or fall, or winter.

Did I just happen to mention that I was hand-picked to offer my services to the courts of New York City? Really. Proudly I mingled with others selected because of various outstanding attributes - hair, socks, drivers license, voter registration and so on. Unfortunately the whole affair was quite dry - and I'm not referring to humidity - well I suppose I am in a way. At any rate, within seconds of spotting me (as I was nattily attired) I was whisked off by the judge for a intimate conversation regarding this and that and my views on very personal matters. Most exhilarating and he was quite toothsome - you know, it helps.

Later I was to find out that he had similar conversations with 7 others - 5 women and 2 men. Ah, gelosia. But the men were gay. And then there was me. I found the whole situation quite dizzying.

I was court-ordered (shivers) to report the next morning to help decide the fate of two tortured human beings, fighting against society and each other, one must rise above the other. My task, how to determine the winner, yet leave the loser with a lesson that would make them too feel like a winner - a winner in the game of life.

Well my toasted chocolate iced chocolate filled pop tarts, it's what I was born to do. (While quite talented in many other areas, those talents were learned through experience.)

Wearing - navy blue, tailored, yet not severe. Heels from hell (sweet muffins, I could afford to as I would be sitting all day). I considered a lorgnette for making those all important silent opinions regarding a witnesses testimony. And of course copious amounts of 'face.' I often find people respond to scare tactics. After all, I wasn't the one on trial.

So, members of the tray of cinnamon buns, let me give you a brief synopsis of the case. An intrigue involving gynecology, broken thumbs, mountain climbing, pearls, skirts slit much to high (or perhaps not high enough) and a medical expert who surprise surprise (certainly to that party!) was concurrently on trial for malpractice.

The players - two lonely souls. Brought together by chance and a rollerblading accident in Central Park. The damage? One thumb - one very special thumb to many women. The crime? Was early movement of the affected joint contraindicated.

Well, I got lost immediately in the defense attorney's soulful dark eyes. I don't mind telling you, pre-packaged pound cake though you may be, that I'm not sure exactly what happened over the course of the next four days.

People came and went. Diagrams, X rays, personal lives, tax returns - please, it just became way too personal. Wasn't it Rodney King. "Can't we just all get along?"

Doctors suing doctors - soon you'll have police turning on themselves. Ahem.

Turning on themselves. Turning themselves on. Excuse me . I heard that in my head, and just had to type it out. Like if someone hums the first three notes of Beethoven's Fifth ...

The outcome? Well the defending doctor avoided having his insurance pay millions to the injured gynecological surgeon. Oh I'm sure everyone had their reasons, but darling challahs, justice is blind.

But I'm not.

I saw the thumb move.

The courtroom erupted. Well, actually I did, but I encompassed most of the room in my shock.

I'm sure no one really believed me, but they were all so kind. At any rate, I suspect when the expert witness for the prosecution turned out to be a doctor currently on suspension for malpractice, it was curtains for that case.

It's nice when everything ends up so tidy.

As for me, the judge has not returned any of my phone calls. I worry that he might be concerned about ex parte, but please, the parte is just about to begin, and I do so want to invite him.

The defense attorney? A mere flirtation. NEVER date a lawyer. Listen to what I say. That's performing services without a contract and oral agreements just never hold up. Please keep the rude comments to a minimum, I expect better than that; you all come from the better families.

Save a foxtrot for me and don't get your bucks all dirty.
Trudy