I called in sick to work, but, since I was talking to Chase at the time, I described my illness as 'extreme chafing and a clingy hooker'. I swear, if I ever have kids, I'll describe as many things as possible to them before they even know what an aneurism is.
Unlikely, though. That I'll have kids. They get too many runny noses, they whine and complain, and don't have the mental capacity to keep from talking to me. That and the fact that the only women interested in me are either a) married, b) my boss, or c) both my minion and half my age. Hormones suck.
Instead of going to work, I woke up early (Cuddy would die of happiness if I put even half this energy into my job) and did some recreational lurking outside Jimmy's little woman's office. After all, I couldn't just show up at Jimmy's house - hah, Jimmy was probably inside his house at the moment, and if you don't get what I mean you have no place here - because if I did show up at his house, he might think I was stalking him. Or, probably worse, that I cared about where he was.
Which I didn't. I didn't care about anything but me.
Julia didn't show up, and eventually, after half an hour of trying to keep the people in the waiting room on their toes (and out of the way of my pacing), I asked the secretary when she would get there, damn it. The secretary gave me an I-doubt-she'll-see-you-when-she-does look and checked the schedule. The next day, she would be back. So I nonchalantly asked the secretary where I could find Ms. Not-Wilson-Anymore today.
At Judge Insert-Lame-TV-Name-Here's divorce court. Okay. I could manage that. Conveniently, it was only five blocks away, so I skipped right on over with a merry smile upon my face at the prospect of seeing dear James again.
Oh yeah, and the muscles of my thigh magically regrew and I swooped Stacey away from her husband and lived happily ever after.
Right. Sarcasm aside, I hopped on my bike (God how I love that beauty) and rode to the court house. Dare I say that I was excited? Or, gasp, even giddy? If I had been going to see James Wilson, oncologist, I could've cared less. But now I was dropping a surprise visit on my friend in the middle of a court proceeding and his name happened to be Jimmy. Oh, and he also happened to be the cause of my hand twitching a bit spasmodically on the gas. Maybe I cared, a little.
Christ, who am I kidding? He had been the only thing on my mind since he hadn't turned out for muster. Damn Vicodin was getting to me, after all those years. It was to be expected, after all.
Still, I pushed her just a little faster. This is Jimmy we're talking about.
When I got there, the guard wouldn't let me in. Something about disturbing Judge Powdered-Wig's court.
I waited until all those stuffy pole-firmly-up-ass people came out the doors, walked in, and found that the next case to be heard was to be Wilson v. Not-Wilson-Anymore.
Perfect timing. I like being God's favorite.
Jimmy launched into a speech to His Honor Johnny J. Two-By-Four about why he should keep the tools, since Julie wouldn't be needing them (I hadn't seen him with half-constructed cabinets in front of him in all the time I'd known him, so obviously his need was greater. Actually, a companion to that thought; Jimmy with his shirt gone with the exertion of sawing and hammering and I need less alone time with my mind). Funny thing, that speech he was giving seemed very familiar. Maybe he had it written down somewhere, and just changed a very words accordingly.
He finished, and I wasdeprived of the deep sound of his voice (it was too tense and serious, I couldn't wait until I had it laughing again). The robe-y man was about to bang the gavel, so I said, "I object!" as loud as I could. Since I was in the front row, this was pretty up there on the list of things to be listening to.
Jimmy instantly stopped breathing. The only way to describe the tension in his shoulders and back was 'the physical equivalent of a horror movie scream'. "Please, ignore the disgruntled gimp."
"What is going on here?" GavelMan (cue TrojanMan theme music) demanded as murmurs sprang up all through the courtroom.
"Well, I stopped by to see if Jimmy needed any witnesses for the murder trial, but it appears that you haven't found out about that yet so I'll be in the hall until you're finished." I stood up, leaning on my cane, and clapped Jimmy on the back (physical contact - why did I swear off it, again?) saying, "You've got 'em fooled so far, Capone."
And I sat giggling in the hall for another hour because I had found my Wilson. Am I like that guy in that movie who got stuck on an island and went crazy talking to a bloodied volleyball? Wilson, Wilson, I'm sorry I couldn't stop you floating away in the middle of the ocean! Wilson, come back! No, you're my best friend, I love you!
What?
What did I just say?