I have always thought that having Perry Mason as a personal friend and confidant would be pretty cool. We could smoke cigarettes in his cool office while trying to piece together his latest case. Della Street and I could talk about where she gets her outfits. Then we would all go out for steaks and martinis. Hopefully, that moocher Paul Drake wouldn’t snow up with a new clue to cut our dinner short. How does that saying go? Be careful what you wish for, or something along those lines?
My little litigator is a real pain in the steak and martini if you want to know the truth. For example; yesterday Grandpa stopped by for a visit after an appointment with his doctor. This morning Tennessee wanted to know “Where’th my Grampa Rod?” He drove home yesterday. “In hith car or you car?” In his car. “Why did he go to the doctor?” I am not sure, he didn’t say. “NO! Tell me whyyyy he goed to the DOCTOR!” At this point, I started to sweat a little. I swear, I don’t know anything, he didn’t tell me. He just said he was going to the doctor. “Did he get a sthot at the doctor? Did he? Wath the needle thith big? Or thith big!?” He held up his little hands to indicate a needle that ranged in size from 8 inches to a foot long.
It went on like that for a while. He followed me from room to room, grilling me about the size of the needle. Did the doctor hurt his grampa? I felt harried and guilty, and I hadn’t even finished my morning bowl of oats yet. Let alone my cup of coffee. While I was in the bathroom, he smooshed his little mouth down by the crack at the bottom of the door demanding more facts about grampa. I finally lost it and yelled “What are you? A lawyer?!”
“Whaths a lawyer? Ith my daddy a lawyer? Do lawyers have carths?” Duuuude…I think my patience is in the laundry, in my other pants. This is gonna be a long Wednesday.
I can imagine little lips yammering on the other side of the crack at the bottom of the door. Too funny...
Posted by: Chynna | April 29, 2010 at 07:03 PM