First, I had a delightful hearing on Wednesday, full of domestic violence in front of the kids. It all revolved around beer, beer bottles, broken beer bottles, throwing the broken beer bottles, lacerations, stitches, protective orders, battery charges, and of course, failing to appear in court to testify against the perp because, well, it probably is pretty damn scary to face the guy again.
On the other hand, it makes my job harder, because he sits smugly on the stand and informs the judge that none of it was true, and look, it was dismissed, wasn't it? Well, yes, you asshole. It was dismissed, give me back my kids. Well, no, my dear, because I have a few tricks up my sleeve too.
What tricks, Grace, you say--we are waiting with bated breath (it IS bated breath, not baited breath--you are not a fish or worm--nor is it abated breath, because, really?).
Well, my dears, I play sweet. While he is looking at me, I twirl the hair (okay, not literally, but you get the idea). He then leers at me, calls me honey/sugar/sweetie. Then I get nasty, and starting reading down the list of everything he has been charged with and not letting him answer with anything other than yes or no. He gets pissed.
Then, I toss out an oh, BTW, you leave your kids with a child molester on a regular basis, right? Yes? Just checking. Thanks!
He is furious. When he gets off the stand, he walks by his former significant other and says loud enough for it to be on the record, Imma cut choo! Which, for those of you not following the red neck accent in my head, is I'm going to cut you. BRILLIANT! My work here is done.
In slightly less disturbing knife related news, my MIL is doing peachy keen--no sign of the cancer returning. Of course, after a double mastectomy, there is no medium left for it to return in... which leads me to the fact that her reconstructive surgery is coming up soon.
Everyone has been kind, gentle, loving, and supportive of the mastectomy and the reconstructive surgery. Vor asks his Mom if she wants to go up a cup size or two. Personally, I think she needed the laugh more than the kind gentle support.
In relaxing knife related news, I just cut up four slicing tomatoes, garlic from my garden, onions from garden, and cucumbers. Tossed it all into a massive zip lock bag with some home made marinade with basil and oregano from my garden (see the theme? I love my garden!) and olive oil and vinegar. Just a pity the tomatoes from my garden aren't ready yet. Swoon.
This will be my summer veggie salad contribution for the huge 4th of July neighborhood party that is actually happening tomorrow. Love my neighborhood.
In fun knife related news, I have scheduled a a cake cutting. Huh, you say?
It goes like this: I have an ultrasound scheduled for the end of August. We should/might/maybe/hopefully be able to tell if Hershey (did I not explain we call this kid Hershey? See paragraph below) is a boy or a girl. This happens the Monday before Vor's birthday, so on Saturday, his birthday, we shall have a cake that is pink or blue on the inside, and frosted in a neutral way on the outside. A double fun party! Actually, a triple fun party, since Vor is a twin.
We did not like saying it when referring to le bebe. So, for a while, it was he or she, which gets very cumbersome. Vor, who talks fast anyways, kept saying he or she so fast, it came out sounding like Hershey.
ALSO, in Richard Russo's Straight Man (HILARIOUS, especially for English majors, so go read it), there is a character who does not like to be defined by gender, so to make fun of him, the entire English department calls him HeorShe, which comes out sounding like "heeORRshee." My baby stressed bladder freaks out a little every time of think of it, because I start laughing.
So, hopefully armed with XX/XY knowledge of Hershey, I shall say to the cake on the fated Saturday in August--
IMMA CUT CHOO!