~~~~~~
This morning Judge Selma burst into the chambers on the early side. Judge Newtothebench and Judge Whoopiecushion were already here and enjoying a cup of joe, centering themselves for a lively round of oral argument.
"They had two humpers!" exclaimed Judge Selma.
Judge Selma is, for all intents and purposes, not one for exclaiming. She usually can't be bothered.
Judge Whoopiecushion shifted awkwardly in his seat and cleared his throat. "What?"
"I haven't seen two humpers in years!" The judge said, puffing heavily on her cigarette.
"Where did you see the humpers?" asked Judge Newtothebench.
"The circus."
Judge Whoopiecushion finally got it. "OH! You're talking about camels! Well, that makes much more sense doesn't it. I thought you were talking about citizens. A-ha-ha-haa! That would have been a very different evening. A-ha-ha!"
Judge Selma took her seat and peered at Judge Whoopiecushion through lidded eyes. She dragged heavily and then exhaled. It looked as if she were going to speak, but she puffed a second time on her ciggie instead. Finally she said, "indeed." She lingered on that second syllable drawing it out before capping it off with a "d" sound strong enough to warrant temporary categorization as a vowel.
A physical silence filled the chambers. I shifted in my chair a little. Ellen broke the tension by offering to refill coffee cups.
~~~~~~
The Princess has returned to us, for a few days at least. She brought her ultrasound images and a set of x-rays. "If you're nice to me, I'll show you my ovary later," she promised. Naturally I took her up on it. She held the images up to the light and tried to point significant foreign masses out to me. She told me she intends to offer the images to the treasury in place of a doctor's note for her recent absences. "And don't forget," she reminded, "I won't be here on Friday. I've got an appointment with the butt doctor."
Yes, yes. How could I forget?
~~~~~~
This afternoon, I was given a sandwich by one of the secretaries for lunch. It was an unexpected bonus free meal. A prosciutto and mozzarella hero. I've never had prosciutto before. The hero was piled high.
I took a bite and was assaulted by salt. And the texture of the food in my mouth was a bit unpleasant. "Umm. Good." I said.
"It's an Italian delicacy," the secretary said.
I didn't really like it, but she was standing right there and I'm never one to turn down a delicacy. I took another bite, smaller this time. The word "blechhh" actually appeared in red letters across the inside of my eyelids. But I couldn't figure out why. I mean, I like salty things. I like sandwiches too. But I hated this. I took a big swig of my coffee. "So delicious," I said.
She stood there beaming. "You know, we make the prosciutto ourselves, my family does."
"Oh?" I began to tremble. "How is that done?"
"Yeah, my family roots are in Parma, which is where prosciutto comes from. It's a family recipe that's hundreds of years old."
"Really?"
"Yeah, see first we butcher the pig and debone the ham, which is, you know, this part here." She indicated her hip and upper thigh.
"Right." I felt my tummy do a flip flop, but still felt compelled to take another bite.
"Then we dry-salt it for six weeks and then air-dry it in our curing shed for almost a year. Some people cook it in their recipies, but I've always found it has a much better flavor when it's sliced raw and put right onto the bread."
Ah. That was it. I was eating raw ham. I don't ordinarily do raw. I like sushi, but I prefer my meat to, you know, be cooked. It's terribly unfashionable, but it's true none the less. The slightest hint of pink for a steak, the 180 degree rule for pork, juices run clear for poultry. I know there's nothing wrong with it, that millions of people eat it, that the salt curing preserves it, but I still felt like wretching.
I examined the sandwich and looked for a place that had a lot of cheese and only a little raw ham. I took another bite. It was horrifying. "This really hits the spot," I said. Then I threw up a little in my mouth.
"I knew you'd like it," she said. "I just knew it! These other bitches in here won't touch it because they know it's been aged out in my shed, but I could tell that you, Brian, you had good taste!"
I choose to interpret that as a compliment.
She left me to my lunch, which was fine as I'd lost my appetite.
Posted at 1:32 p.m.
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