This week, I have made or will make the following court appearances:
Monday -- 8:30 AM court (3 cases)
Tuesday -- 11:00 AM appeals hearing (I didn't actually speak, so I'm not sure this one counts)
Wednesday -- 8:30 AM court (1 case, 1 witness) (Same court as Monday.)
Thursday -- 2:00 PM court (4 cases, 1 witness)
Friday -- 9:30 AM court AND 2:00 PM court (A Double Header!) (Witnesses in both courts)
If this pace keeps up, I am going to need to go shopping for another suit. Three suits will not suffice to get me through a week like this. I cheated on Wednesday and wore non-suit-matching pants with the suit jacket from Monday, but I also rocked some new peep-toe shoes (Target, baby!) and those helped to pull off the look. Also, the County courthouse is not exactly Bryant Park, if you know what I mean.
Its the first day of spring today, and I have no happy pictures of flowers to show you. And that is because it is still painfully cold outside. Sure, the sun is shining, but there are hurricane force winds tossing you about, and they carry the deep frozen coldness of all that is not Summer. Nearly drove my car off the road in one of the big gusts.
In order to retain a semblance of my sanity in spite of this whole Not-Spring-Yet-And-Court-Every-Day thing, I have begun to cook dinner again. My cooking schedule is sporadic, but its better than soggy french fries in a cardboard sleeve five nights a week.
Here, I will provide you with a succinct lesson on how-to-cook-dinner-at-Cafe-Steele. First, obtain something to distract your husband from his hunger pangs, since you just got home and its already 7 PM.
Next, take your pizza dough out of the fridge and attempt to take an accurate photo that doesn't make it look like some sort of horrible, disfigured anatomy textbook picture. (I swear it looks just like normal pizza dough in real life. Somebody get me some decent lighting around here.)
Next, throw some red sauce, cheese, and pepperonis on the dough, as fast as you can. (You're starving too, remember?)
Ten minutes and five hundred degrees later, you have a pizza. All is well with the world, despite your fourteen billion court appearances this week.
Meanwhile, your dear pup is sorely disappointed that there were not more crumbs dropped on the floor during this whole culinary venture.
Broken vacuum cleaner? Buy a dog. My floors have zero crumbs.