So I was supposed to have a trial today. So I went all game-facey.
I totally look like I know what I’m doing? Right? Yea, that lasted appx 10 sec. Because right after this picture was taken, things starting falling apart. Because, as Chinua Achebe would tell you, Things Fall Apart. (Holla AP English from a decade ago.)
Ok, so take a look at those pearls that are “borrowed” from my mom right now. Did you know that you can snag pearls on a microwave door? Yep . You can. I didn’t know that. I was all hurry hurry rush rush, get to court. Stuck an apple + flax + brown sugar + cinnamon in the microwave and grabbed it out, only to catch my necklace on the door and send the pearls spilling all over the kitchen floor.
Of course, I then yelled frick! Sprinted up the stairs, and put on my grandmother’s lucky mikomotos. I break them out only on special occasions because I heart them/her so much.
I finally grabbed the brekky out of the microwave, and balancing a redwell full of files, ran out the door.
And then, of course I hit every red light on the way to court. Frick Frick.
I run up to court and I’m already 5 minutes late because I had to change my necklace. I’m not that superficial…but some juries are. For serious. But, anyway, I get up into court and they are already checking in all the jurors and stuff. I’m rushing in, dodging the crowds, still carrying my uneaten brekky. I get to the attorney sideroom, and plop my redwell down.
At that moment, I KNOW something is wrong. The pen that had been clipped to my files is feeling a little to nice and snuggly up to my leg. And frick. My pen is caught on my stockings.
Ok, deep breath. You can pull the pen out, and maybe only have a little hole. Yes. yessssssss. Ok, pen is out. I have a small hole. I ask around, do you think the jury will notice? (because I, of course, have no spare stockings).
And then I bend down to really look at the hole. AND FRICK. The hole raaaaaaaaaan.
And. There I am. Sitting in court. About to start a trial. With a GIANT run in my stockings. And I don’t have any spare pairs. And my mother would have my head if she knew I was considering going sans stockings. And no southern jury would approve of a girl being in court without stockings (like I said, juries get hung up on interesting/unimportant/irrelevant things…). And my run makes me look messy. And. FRICK.
So, I call over to the office. And ask if any has a spare pair. Forget the fact that I’m taller than everyone at the office. If anyone has a pair, they’re only going to come up to my knees. And no one has any.
And then. A court reporter called in sick. And we can’t have the trial. And my trial is postponed until tomorrow. Sigh.
So, I sat second chair on another trial. With a run in my stockings. But I didn’t have to get up or have the jury see me. So it was all ok.
And, while the jury was *briefly* deliberating…I did a bad thing.
A bad, but delish thing.
Ok, now my trial is really going tomorrow. So, I’m off to rest and relax and get mentally all ready to go. And, to go stick three extra pairs of stockings in my attache’.