DISCLAIMER: Same as always.
Author's Note: He he! Time for the Evil Queen! Have fun guys! Please review!
~~Chapter Three~~
As soon as Prince Charming had departed, he and his horse causing quite a stir in the mirrored elevators, I returned to my office so as to prepare myself for my next client. He/she was due to arrive at ten. I flipped through Mr. Prince's files. Gee, he was right, the man WAS super human. He spoke twelve different languages, had written several award-winning operas, didn't perspire, paid all his bills before deadline...Hell, the laws of physics didn't even apply to him.
I sighed and felt very inadequate. How do you compete with a guy who can cook thirty-minute brownies in twenty minutes? All single males were now officially screwed.
BUZZ!! "Mr. Higgenbotham?"
I grunted into the box, "Yes Martha?"
"She's here."
"Well show her in!"
"Yes, sir."
I collected myself during the brief interlude, and was ready to face anyone or anything that walked through that door. Like Hell.
The little old woman who hobbled inward, knocking aside a porcelain vase of mine (which I happened to be very fond of) with her cane, destroyed all self-assurance I possessed as she glared at me with her small, beady, black eyes.
"Damn communists," I heard her grumble in greeting. Not quite sure how to respond to that comment I simply ignored it and continued with my formulaic salutation.
"Good morning. How are you today?" I prompted.
"Damn communistic court systems, giving me this sentence," she growled and sat on the plush armchair.
"Communist?" I queried, "There aren't too many communist in New York City ma'am. You know, democracy and all."
"Well, McCarthy didn't do his job well enough! This judicial system is full of the lunatics!" Her cane waved dangerously near another vase. Ever so discreetly I nudged it away from her.
"And what sentence did you receive ma'am?"
Here she grew so quiet that I had to ask her to repeat herself. "What was that again?"
"Anger management therapy," she uttered little louder than a whisper. Her eyes looked murderous, as though she wanted nothing more than to wring a few necks. "AND ALL I DID WAS CAST A FEW CURSES!! NOW THEY TELL ME I NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT THERAPY!!!"
My toupee quivered from the assault of her voice and I quickly reached out to wrench her file away from her. Sure enough, "Witch, Evil" was here on court summons for anger management therapy. I dared a glance at the clock. 10:07. It was going to be a long fifty-minute hour.
"Well Ms. Witch, you file lists quite a few offenses here, it's no wonder you were brought to court. Stabbing people with spindles, handing out poisoned apples, imprisoning young women in towers for several years...it seems to me that you have personal issues. Do you have anything to add?"
"Every single one of them was justified."
Oh boy.
"Look here sonny, I was just doin' what them Grimms Brothers told me to do! All they want is for you to write up a nice report for the jury and let me go about my business in peace."
I could live with that.
"Well, that's fine then, but you still need your hours. So I'm afraid that you need to sit out the rest of your time with me."
There was a pause while she thought, "You won't make me talk about my childhood?"
"Scout's honor."
"Well, all right then. I don't suppose you play scrabble do you?"
I smiled a little, "As a matter of fact, I keep a few board games handy."
At first I thought it would be easy to beat this old hag of a woman, but soon I discovered that I was sorely mistaken.
"There that's 'myriad'! Twelve points!"
The old crone looked down at her tiles and grinned devilishly, "My turn," she laid the tiles on the board. "Using your 'a' I can spell 'dissonance'. That's thirty points!" she cackled.
I began to sweat. "'Nominee'. Thirteen points."
"'Mugwump'. Forty two!"
"Wait a minute...that's not a word!"
"Sure it is," she stuck her slimy tongue out at me, "A politically neutral person. Often associated with Republican's who deserted their party in 1884 when refusing to support James G. Blaine in the presidential elections." With her wand she conjured a dictionary in midair. "You may ask Mr. Webster if you prefer."
"Now we're tied sonny, but if you don't play something worth more than thirty eight points you're going to lose in about ten seconds!"
"Well, golly gee, look at the time!" I announced quickly, "You're fifty- minute hour is up! Time to be going!" I pulled her up, stuffed the wand into her hand and began pushing her towards the door.
"But we haven't finished the ga...." She cried as I slammed the door.
I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Lord she was gone. It was now nearly eleven o'clock. I decided to take a LONG lunchbreak.
Author's Note: He he! Time for the Evil Queen! Have fun guys! Please review!
~~Chapter Three~~
As soon as Prince Charming had departed, he and his horse causing quite a stir in the mirrored elevators, I returned to my office so as to prepare myself for my next client. He/she was due to arrive at ten. I flipped through Mr. Prince's files. Gee, he was right, the man WAS super human. He spoke twelve different languages, had written several award-winning operas, didn't perspire, paid all his bills before deadline...Hell, the laws of physics didn't even apply to him.
I sighed and felt very inadequate. How do you compete with a guy who can cook thirty-minute brownies in twenty minutes? All single males were now officially screwed.
BUZZ!! "Mr. Higgenbotham?"
I grunted into the box, "Yes Martha?"
"She's here."
"Well show her in!"
"Yes, sir."
I collected myself during the brief interlude, and was ready to face anyone or anything that walked through that door. Like Hell.
The little old woman who hobbled inward, knocking aside a porcelain vase of mine (which I happened to be very fond of) with her cane, destroyed all self-assurance I possessed as she glared at me with her small, beady, black eyes.
"Damn communists," I heard her grumble in greeting. Not quite sure how to respond to that comment I simply ignored it and continued with my formulaic salutation.
"Good morning. How are you today?" I prompted.
"Damn communistic court systems, giving me this sentence," she growled and sat on the plush armchair.
"Communist?" I queried, "There aren't too many communist in New York City ma'am. You know, democracy and all."
"Well, McCarthy didn't do his job well enough! This judicial system is full of the lunatics!" Her cane waved dangerously near another vase. Ever so discreetly I nudged it away from her.
"And what sentence did you receive ma'am?"
Here she grew so quiet that I had to ask her to repeat herself. "What was that again?"
"Anger management therapy," she uttered little louder than a whisper. Her eyes looked murderous, as though she wanted nothing more than to wring a few necks. "AND ALL I DID WAS CAST A FEW CURSES!! NOW THEY TELL ME I NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT THERAPY!!!"
My toupee quivered from the assault of her voice and I quickly reached out to wrench her file away from her. Sure enough, "Witch, Evil" was here on court summons for anger management therapy. I dared a glance at the clock. 10:07. It was going to be a long fifty-minute hour.
"Well Ms. Witch, you file lists quite a few offenses here, it's no wonder you were brought to court. Stabbing people with spindles, handing out poisoned apples, imprisoning young women in towers for several years...it seems to me that you have personal issues. Do you have anything to add?"
"Every single one of them was justified."
Oh boy.
"Look here sonny, I was just doin' what them Grimms Brothers told me to do! All they want is for you to write up a nice report for the jury and let me go about my business in peace."
I could live with that.
"Well, that's fine then, but you still need your hours. So I'm afraid that you need to sit out the rest of your time with me."
There was a pause while she thought, "You won't make me talk about my childhood?"
"Scout's honor."
"Well, all right then. I don't suppose you play scrabble do you?"
I smiled a little, "As a matter of fact, I keep a few board games handy."
At first I thought it would be easy to beat this old hag of a woman, but soon I discovered that I was sorely mistaken.
"There that's 'myriad'! Twelve points!"
The old crone looked down at her tiles and grinned devilishly, "My turn," she laid the tiles on the board. "Using your 'a' I can spell 'dissonance'. That's thirty points!" she cackled.
I began to sweat. "'Nominee'. Thirteen points."
"'Mugwump'. Forty two!"
"Wait a minute...that's not a word!"
"Sure it is," she stuck her slimy tongue out at me, "A politically neutral person. Often associated with Republican's who deserted their party in 1884 when refusing to support James G. Blaine in the presidential elections." With her wand she conjured a dictionary in midair. "You may ask Mr. Webster if you prefer."
"Now we're tied sonny, but if you don't play something worth more than thirty eight points you're going to lose in about ten seconds!"
"Well, golly gee, look at the time!" I announced quickly, "You're fifty- minute hour is up! Time to be going!" I pulled her up, stuffed the wand into her hand and began pushing her towards the door.
"But we haven't finished the ga...." She cried as I slammed the door.
I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Lord she was gone. It was now nearly eleven o'clock. I decided to take a LONG lunchbreak.