Don’t have anything to blog about today, Sus? Seems we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel if we’re revisiting your college dating life.
Well, Faithful Commenter Sami asked me to talk about the time I met the defense attorney and I don’t like to disappoint the four of you who read because I am an obliging sort of person.
That and nothing else happened to me yesterday that was blogworthy unless you count rain, tornado warnings, more rain, more tornado warnings, and spending the evening playing Words with Friends with my husband who was sitting on the couch next to me.
My life is gripping drama.
Was it an exciting case? Murder? Mayhem? Wearing white after Labor Day?
If I recall correctly it was a drug possession case but the details are a little fuzzy because I tend to get distracted by all things pretty and shiny and in this instance it was a good-looking defense attorney who kept catching my attention throughout the course of the trial.
Was he really interested in you, Sus? Or was he interested in getting his client set free?
Well, seeing as how he admitted to me that his client was guilty as sin after we had convicted him, I’m thinking the former.
And isn’t it slightly illegal for an attorney to throw his client under the bus? I think that violates privilege rules.
It should have been my first clue.
So he really asked you out?
Yes, he did. We passed each other in the courthouse hallway after the trial was over and I smiled as to him as I walked by and he said, “The judge thinks we need to go out.”
Did I hear correctly? I was thinking that I needed to vote for that judge in the next election.
So did you go out with him?
Yes, and here’s where the story takes a sharp left and heads straight into the Jersey wall.
He called to say that he’d pick me up at 5:30 and drive me to Hot Springs for dinner and I had visions of a quiet, expensive candlelit dinner by the lake (because, you know, ATTORNEY) so I primped and fluffed and put on lipstick and came down to find him not so very dressed up and as he escorted me to his ’82 Impala apologizing because his BMW was in the shop (yeah, right), he said that he wouldn’t be able to take me to Hot Springs for dinner because he wasn’t sure if the car would make it.
And perhaps we should go to Western Sizzlin’.
So we showed up at Western Sizzlin’ at 5:30 in the afternoon with all the other early-birds and had our $5.99 buffet.
Oh, Sus, that sounds less than glamorous. Was there a second date and did it go better?
There was a second date.
To Taco Bell.
Sus, was there a third date? Please tell me “no”.
What can I say? I was waiting for the Beemer to get out of the shop.
Sus, there never was a Beemer, was there?
No friends, there wasn’t a Beemer. I found myself on the third date sitting in that ’82 Impala eating chili cheese fries at Sonic and listening to him talk about himself for yet another evening and the scales of justice fell from my eyes and I could see clearly now the rain was gone.
And I said, “You know? This isn’t really working for me.”
“What? The cheese fries?”
Sus, that wasn’t a gentle letdown. Was he okay?
Without missing a beat, he shrugged and said, “The courthouse bailiff from our trial thought you were cute. Do you want to go out with him?”
And thus ended my dating career in law enforcement.
Have a nice day.