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Tuesday, Oct. 09, 2001
There's no satisfaction in being at odds with a spouse. Long story short, Ally and I are just peachy fine again. But my mission is clear.

Keep that vodka out of sight. Personally, I don't care for the stuff. I'll have a gin and tonic once in a while, usually while having a dinner at a resturant. Me and liquor aren't the best of companions. Beer, on the other hand...

Ally doesn't drink much either. Seriously. Which is probably why she reacts badly to it when overindulging. Okay, 'nuff said about the effects of spirits and spouses.

Today's the day I take the eldest child to court.

And in typing that I realize how funny it sounds, so let me reiterate.

Beth got a speeding ticket last month. Having had a drivers license for a scant 4 months, and being a juvenile at 17, the law decrees that pop or mom should accompany said juvenile to the cattle call of circuit court to pay the fine.

Those of you familiar with the drill know the rest of the story. You go to court, sit through all the cases where defendants with a lawyer go first, then hear the more dastardly cases (injunctions, Rotweilers on a rampage, public urination), and finally get to the teenaged speeders. The bottom of the legal barrel.

If court starts at 9, we might luck out and be finished by 4. Whoop.

I look at it this way. Beth had her driving rights revoked by Judge Outfoxed. She gets to pay $35 to the court and have a stern lecture from another, less demanding, but fully garbed and gaveled judge. She then will resume driving, eventually.

Me, on the other hand, gets to write off an entire day of work to sit in a courtroom. The best I can hope for is to smuggle in a magazine or something to occupy my brain for 6 to 7 hours. Lost earnings, on a normal day? I dunno, say $200. Plus, I get to wallow in the discomfiture of sharing the trough with untold legions of lawyers in wingtips and pinstripes.

I prefer the British system of law, at least for its' trappings. Over there, they don white wigs and 17th century gowns with the frilly white collars. They speak in crisp, clear English with a minimum of uhhing and duhhing. Must admit, they at least look the part of keepers of the law.

Here in the states, lawyers, at least the male version, dress overmuch like their near cousin, the car salesman. For all their respectful whisperings in court to the patriarch judge, you just know that their main goal is to run back to the office and ring up those billable hours so they can pump out an invoice.

Maybe tomorrow I'll write up an entry about my loathing for lawyers. Trust me, it's well documented and full of cursing and gnashing of teeth.

Update: It's not Circuit Court. I checked the summons just now and it's Juvenile and Domestic. OhGodno. Noooooooooo........

No wonder they want a parent to accompany the offender. You can guess who's going to be on trial here. Yep. It's that shameful parent who let his daughter drive so fast in the first place.

I swear, if they recommend counseling, you'll be reading about me in the papers. 'Local Man Hurdles Judges Bench, Throttles Barrister.'

Guess I better go change my shirt. I had on a comfy solid color flannel affair, but this calls for a button down.

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