15 July - Thurs.
I received an invitation to attend a judicial conference in Las Vegas this weekend. I don't know why Maggie Hamilton can't simply pick up a phone and call, rather than sending these hideous magenta notes. One would think such an eminent jurist would have better taste in stationary. Oh, well, she always was a "corker" to use her terminology.
She proclaims that she is desperate for an "escort"- she needs protection from a sheep in wolf's clothing. I suspect it may be the sheep that needs the protection from that West Texan she-wolf in judge's robes. But at least there was no mention of my being a "boy-toy"- only a "tackle". I'll swear that she uses this "dialect" to annoy me. Father used to do that to make certain my American English was truly fluent - not just proper - and I'd annoy him by using Cockney or swearing in Dutch or French. At least, I'd annoy him until he had had enough.
All seems to be going well around here. Philip confessed to the window. He didn't have the staying power I had expected. That was almost too easy. I let him think he's off the hook. Perhaps he is, perhaps not. We'll see how the mood takes me when I get back from Vegas.
Nick is settling into the rhythm of the place, when he can manage to quit bouncing from the walls. I think they've all made plans to go to the movies this weekend. My absence will make it easier on everyone. That way they won't feel obligated to ask me along. I never go anyway. Besides, they are probably bound for "Jurassic Park". Needless to say, my boyhood interest in dinosaurs is irrevocably cured.
So - I think I shall yield to Maggie's plea. I need to give them all, Nick especially, and myself some space. I'm too close to this situation. My objectivity is shot to hell.
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