So I’m reading this lawyer book

Sort of a King of Torts story (It’s  The Litagator by John Grisham ) one of the main characters, Oscar, is getting ready to leave his wife of 30 years. He has all sorts of reasons. He’s been working in his law firm for his entire adult life….and now, at the age of 62, he is going to find some nice gal, retire and just enjoy life. So I’m reading this, thinking of all the old foggy-ness Oscar has accumulated and thinking to myself, I’ve dated lawyers and they aren’t all that interesting PLUS Oscar is so old. I’d never date him.

Dude. I’ll be sixty on my birthday. I’ve dated Oscar my whole life. Shoot, Jackson would be even OLDER than Oscar. Just because I like to pretend that my white hair is really platinum blonde doesn’t make it so. Just because cute older guys in convertibles wave at me doesn’t mean I’m all that (it usually means my gas tank door is open). And they only look older because I can’t see. For all I know, they could be 37 or 77 or gasp! 17 and I would never notice. I never wear my glasses at home anymore and I still vainly slip in my contacts if I’m going out and about, just so I can wear my sunglasses pushed up a la Jackie O. I think it makes me look cooler. Hipper. Chicer. But it does very little for identifying random speeding-off guys.

It was a great book full of sneaky twists and I came out knowing a lot more about the presentation of a trial than I knew before.

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