DISCLAIMER: Um...this is ridiculous. Only thing, "Legally Blonde" stuff isn't
mine. Neither are the pain killers.
Author's Note: Ok, sorry last chapter was so short. I needed to bring in the Mafia again and just kind of recap everything. This one should be better.
~~Chapter Seven~~
By the time Thursday morning rolled around I was rested and my self-esteem had risen greatly. I had counseled Prince Charming for depression, lost gallantly to an Evil Witch in Scrabble, and saved the Frog Prince's marriage...hell by now I could take on the IRS single-handedly and sabotage the Republican National Convention while I was at it!
These were my thoughts as I strolled into my office and practically sang, "Good morning Martha!"
Today she wore a blue dress with white sand dollar prints on it, and her eyeglass chain consisted of a string of seashells. She looked up at me with a very bemused expression on her face. "Either you've just won the lottery or you've completely snapped and need some Prozac, which is it?"
"Snapped I think," I agreed and began to riffle through the papers she handed me. "By the way, would it be too much trouble if I asked you to send out for some Ibuprofen? Not Tylenol, you could OD on that stuff before it did you a bit of good. And Advil makes me loopy."
She cocked an eyebrow, "Sure you don't want the Advil? I've seen your first patient...it's in your office right now."
"What do you mean...it...?" I asked, stopping my shuffling and focusing on my mollusk-clad secretary.
"Daniel, you'd better just go see for yourself."
Hesitantly, I opened my door and entered my office. The light, bouncy feeling left faster than Brittney Spears could divorce her husband. The sofa in my office was being occupied by a cross dressing canine. To be more specific, a wolf...dressed in women's nightclothes.
Shakily, I crossed to my desk and pressed the buzzer on my intercom, "Martha, go ahead and get the Advil."
The wolf took a cigar out of a small, pink sequined purse and lit up. My eyes lingered on his pink nails as he said in a deep, growling voice, "Good morning Dr. Higgenbotham. I am Mr. Wolfe."
I took in his frilly, pink, nightdress (coated with lace), and his pink nightcap with a small purple pansy pinned to it. Most disturbing was the fact that he wore on his feet (paws?) a pair of four-inch, hot pink, stilettos.
"Dr. Higgenbotham?" his carnation red lips asked.
I snapped back to what I hoped was reality. No, wait, there was still a cross-dressing wolf in my office...damn.
"Hello Mrs....Mr.Wolfe," I caught myself. I looked down at my desk to avoid staring at the gender-confused canine in front of me. "I suppose you have your file?"
Mr. Wolfe withdrew a manila folder from his sequined purse and handed it to me. I opened it and stared in bewilderment at the file papers.
"They're pink?"
"Oh, and scented. I think it gives them a little something extra, don't you think?" The wolf smiled sweetly and took a long drag of his cigar.
"Mr. Wolfe, do you think you could save the smoking for later? I don't particularly like the smell of smoke in my office."
The delicately manicured, stiletto-wearing wolf growled at me.
"Don't worry about it...I love the smell of cigars!" I corrected myself quickly and began to read the scented documents in front of me.
PATIENT NAME: Wolfe, Big Bad GENDER: Male (we think) AGE: 56 in dog years REASON FOR TREATMENT: (see above picture)
The file photograph depicted a preening wolf modeling Victoria's Secret lingerie in Milan.
I gulped, "Well Mr. Wolfe, do you have anything to say?"
"My line of faux-fur panties was very well received."
I laughed weakly, "That's lovely..."
"Oh yes, I think it's ever so cruel to sacrifice poor, defenseless creatures to be made into clothing for our materialistic, narcissistic society. Don't you?"
Deciding that this would not be a good time to mention the mink coat I had bought off Ebay for my Great-Aunt Lulu, I simply nodded vigorously and continued flipping through the papers.
"So, are you quite comfortable with yourself Mr. Wolfe?"
The wolf daintily crossed his legs and said, "Oh yes, quite!"
"You see nothing unusual about your...er...attire?"
"Honestly, I find the skirt to provide much more coverage than my fur alone. By the way, I was considering purchasing a Venus razor to shave with? Do you think I should?" He pulled his skirt up a little and extended a canine leg for my inspection.
"No, I like the natural coat look for you...it goes well with your eyes."
"Why thank you!" the wolf batted his mascara coated eyelashes at me.
I massaged my temples and continued, "Anyway, don't you find anything odd about your clothing?"
Mr. Wolf flicked a paw at me, ashes from his cigar scattering all over my Persian rug. "Lord no! This is all about exploring my self and expressing my individuality."
"You're an individual all right."
"Seriously," the wolf continued in his deep, gruff voice, "Last summer I did some extensive soul searching in a spa in southern Thailand with a monk who gave a swell French manicure. I discovered that I was not the canine I wanted to be and began to explore my subconscious, searching for my true identity. I tried wearing a sheep ensemble for awhile but decided I wasn't into the whole wool thing. Then I tried lions, tigers, bears, Lilliputians, evil sorceresses...at one point I was Martha Stewart..."
I raised my eyebrows and silently applauded.
"That didn't last long. You know the whole insider trading thing?"
"Yes..."
"You don't actually think some fifty two year old lady who bakes cookies and designs tablecloths for a living did that do you?"
I decided to avoid legal entanglements and remain silent.
"It was on a lovely September day in Greece where I was meeting with the Pope..."
"You met the Pope?" I interrupted.
"Oh yes, he let my try on his hat...I must say I found it very aesthetic. Anyway, John Paul the whatever-number-he-is suggested exploring more of my feminine side and I discovered that my inner child...was crying out for a grandmother...so there you go."
"So you're comfortable with yourself and this expression of your inner being?"
"Extremely. In fact I would recommend this therapy to anyone. You yourself might find it relaxing to be the tooth fairy for a day or so."
"No thanks, not interested."
"If you say so." Mr. Wolfe extinguished the remaining stub of his cigar and rose from the sofa.
"Well good day to you Dr. Higgenbotham. I do hope you have as much success in discovering your true self as I have had. You have been most entertaining, although slightly deranged about the presence of tobacco in your workspace," he said as he flounced out of my office.
Deranged...me? I remembered Mr. Wolfe's attire and was slightly taken aback as to the statement that I was the deranged one.
Oh well, another one down. I could only wonder who would waltz into my office next.
Author's Note: Ok, sorry last chapter was so short. I needed to bring in the Mafia again and just kind of recap everything. This one should be better.
~~Chapter Seven~~
By the time Thursday morning rolled around I was rested and my self-esteem had risen greatly. I had counseled Prince Charming for depression, lost gallantly to an Evil Witch in Scrabble, and saved the Frog Prince's marriage...hell by now I could take on the IRS single-handedly and sabotage the Republican National Convention while I was at it!
These were my thoughts as I strolled into my office and practically sang, "Good morning Martha!"
Today she wore a blue dress with white sand dollar prints on it, and her eyeglass chain consisted of a string of seashells. She looked up at me with a very bemused expression on her face. "Either you've just won the lottery or you've completely snapped and need some Prozac, which is it?"
"Snapped I think," I agreed and began to riffle through the papers she handed me. "By the way, would it be too much trouble if I asked you to send out for some Ibuprofen? Not Tylenol, you could OD on that stuff before it did you a bit of good. And Advil makes me loopy."
She cocked an eyebrow, "Sure you don't want the Advil? I've seen your first patient...it's in your office right now."
"What do you mean...it...?" I asked, stopping my shuffling and focusing on my mollusk-clad secretary.
"Daniel, you'd better just go see for yourself."
Hesitantly, I opened my door and entered my office. The light, bouncy feeling left faster than Brittney Spears could divorce her husband. The sofa in my office was being occupied by a cross dressing canine. To be more specific, a wolf...dressed in women's nightclothes.
Shakily, I crossed to my desk and pressed the buzzer on my intercom, "Martha, go ahead and get the Advil."
The wolf took a cigar out of a small, pink sequined purse and lit up. My eyes lingered on his pink nails as he said in a deep, growling voice, "Good morning Dr. Higgenbotham. I am Mr. Wolfe."
I took in his frilly, pink, nightdress (coated with lace), and his pink nightcap with a small purple pansy pinned to it. Most disturbing was the fact that he wore on his feet (paws?) a pair of four-inch, hot pink, stilettos.
"Dr. Higgenbotham?" his carnation red lips asked.
I snapped back to what I hoped was reality. No, wait, there was still a cross-dressing wolf in my office...damn.
"Hello Mrs....Mr.Wolfe," I caught myself. I looked down at my desk to avoid staring at the gender-confused canine in front of me. "I suppose you have your file?"
Mr. Wolfe withdrew a manila folder from his sequined purse and handed it to me. I opened it and stared in bewilderment at the file papers.
"They're pink?"
"Oh, and scented. I think it gives them a little something extra, don't you think?" The wolf smiled sweetly and took a long drag of his cigar.
"Mr. Wolfe, do you think you could save the smoking for later? I don't particularly like the smell of smoke in my office."
The delicately manicured, stiletto-wearing wolf growled at me.
"Don't worry about it...I love the smell of cigars!" I corrected myself quickly and began to read the scented documents in front of me.
PATIENT NAME: Wolfe, Big Bad GENDER: Male (we think) AGE: 56 in dog years REASON FOR TREATMENT: (see above picture)
The file photograph depicted a preening wolf modeling Victoria's Secret lingerie in Milan.
I gulped, "Well Mr. Wolfe, do you have anything to say?"
"My line of faux-fur panties was very well received."
I laughed weakly, "That's lovely..."
"Oh yes, I think it's ever so cruel to sacrifice poor, defenseless creatures to be made into clothing for our materialistic, narcissistic society. Don't you?"
Deciding that this would not be a good time to mention the mink coat I had bought off Ebay for my Great-Aunt Lulu, I simply nodded vigorously and continued flipping through the papers.
"So, are you quite comfortable with yourself Mr. Wolfe?"
The wolf daintily crossed his legs and said, "Oh yes, quite!"
"You see nothing unusual about your...er...attire?"
"Honestly, I find the skirt to provide much more coverage than my fur alone. By the way, I was considering purchasing a Venus razor to shave with? Do you think I should?" He pulled his skirt up a little and extended a canine leg for my inspection.
"No, I like the natural coat look for you...it goes well with your eyes."
"Why thank you!" the wolf batted his mascara coated eyelashes at me.
I massaged my temples and continued, "Anyway, don't you find anything odd about your clothing?"
Mr. Wolf flicked a paw at me, ashes from his cigar scattering all over my Persian rug. "Lord no! This is all about exploring my self and expressing my individuality."
"You're an individual all right."
"Seriously," the wolf continued in his deep, gruff voice, "Last summer I did some extensive soul searching in a spa in southern Thailand with a monk who gave a swell French manicure. I discovered that I was not the canine I wanted to be and began to explore my subconscious, searching for my true identity. I tried wearing a sheep ensemble for awhile but decided I wasn't into the whole wool thing. Then I tried lions, tigers, bears, Lilliputians, evil sorceresses...at one point I was Martha Stewart..."
I raised my eyebrows and silently applauded.
"That didn't last long. You know the whole insider trading thing?"
"Yes..."
"You don't actually think some fifty two year old lady who bakes cookies and designs tablecloths for a living did that do you?"
I decided to avoid legal entanglements and remain silent.
"It was on a lovely September day in Greece where I was meeting with the Pope..."
"You met the Pope?" I interrupted.
"Oh yes, he let my try on his hat...I must say I found it very aesthetic. Anyway, John Paul the whatever-number-he-is suggested exploring more of my feminine side and I discovered that my inner child...was crying out for a grandmother...so there you go."
"So you're comfortable with yourself and this expression of your inner being?"
"Extremely. In fact I would recommend this therapy to anyone. You yourself might find it relaxing to be the tooth fairy for a day or so."
"No thanks, not interested."
"If you say so." Mr. Wolfe extinguished the remaining stub of his cigar and rose from the sofa.
"Well good day to you Dr. Higgenbotham. I do hope you have as much success in discovering your true self as I have had. You have been most entertaining, although slightly deranged about the presence of tobacco in your workspace," he said as he flounced out of my office.
Deranged...me? I remembered Mr. Wolfe's attire and was slightly taken aback as to the statement that I was the deranged one.
Oh well, another one down. I could only wonder who would waltz into my office next.