Finally. Another hectic day. The Milwaukee Maids, a precision dance and marching team, were settling in nicely. They were also eating more than the livestock, monopolizing the bathroom, and totally unclear on the concept of milking cows. I got to do that. ALL of that.
By 12:01 AM on the Eighth Day, there arrived a great clamoring in the back area of the apartment building.
The missing milkmaid had been found. She was in the bar over on Sheridan, proving once again that the wholesome girl next door, when packaged in a blonde, Nordic goddess body, can truly rule a crowd of men with a simple glance. And, of course, liberal sharing of a phone number, that turned out to be mine. All eight of the maids were sent to the garages to distribute hay, and to make sure the cows got their feed and water. And, of course, the girls needed milking. I wasn't up for it, and after giving a short lesson, the maids went to work on the girls, and all was peaceful and quiet.
Snow had started falling, too late for Christmas day itself, but close enough.
At 12:17 AM, the bell rang. Again, I found myself saying many curse like words, uttering oaths and wishes for bodily harm that would be brutal, nasty and expertly administered. I kept thinking TSA. Then I realized that the lawyer I'd met with during the prior day had promised a suit would be filed by morning. Which it was.
Already.
Heaven help me, let there be a dozen rings and forget the rest of the gifts.
But no. I found the hallway clogged with boxes. And a delivery guy.
Two maids appeared at my shoulder, and assured me that Lisa, whoever that was, was in the kitchen making tea for me. I just stood there shaking with anger.
Delivery guy handed the smallest box to me. It was somewhat heavy, which made me wonder, where had the box that supposedly contained rings gotten to after the whole debacle with the cows.
The COWS!!! Oh. Geez. Great.
Eight more cows were somewhere in the vicinity, with another eight milk maids.
Yikes!
To top it off, there were nine, count 'em, NINE DANCING GIRLS.
With their own band/boombox. Going full bore. Lady GaGa. I guess. Lady GaGa for the dancing Ladies.
I shook the box in my hand and wondered if there were enough gold rings in there to fund a hotel room or twenty. At least, one for me.
As I was contemplating this, the boxes and additional swimming area for swans were shoehorned into my about to explode apartment. Goose eggs, French hen eggs, partridge eggs (who knew?), and a swan egg were all collected and put into the kitchen. Milk pails began to arrive from the nether reaches of the building, along with a police sergeant, who was filling out an appearance form as he walked off the elevator.
"Ladies, clear out. Who's responsible for the livestock?" Barney Fife, this guy was not. He looked like he coudl be the brother of the maids, with all that Nordic blonde thing. Or, he was a body builder with a thing for blonde hair.
Or, on close inspection of his shoulder patch, which read "Christmas Copper", I knew that I was in for something more. Heaven help me if he was a stripper sent to entertain the girls. Err, maids.
But no, not a stripper. Not a stripper at all. He handed me a receipt from his tablet, and I read the words every litigant lives to read.
"Defendant has been served."
Colin Craven decided to send the message with a little class. He used the same guys that work as strippers for bachelorette parties, but found their people skills were also great with serving reluctant opposition. You know the types. They get served about as often as the Sun rises, and duck every paper from any and every court.
I invited him in for some omelets, tea, fruit (pears), and assorted goodies the Maids had brought from home. There were enough different types of Christmas cookies to make any party festive. Someone found a CD of
Christmas carols, and after stuffing our faces, we all began singing. Soon, the phone rang, and we invited the complaining neighbor to join in. She said no, she'd be sending the police.
We went silent. As in Silent Night,
Well, that's it for now. Dancing Ladies are sound asleep, as are the sixteen maids. Clearly, there was no hope for showers in the morning, and it was my apartment. I ducked in, dodging geese and swans, and had a very quick shower and shampoo. By the time that was accomplished, it was about time to dress for court.
I grabbed a very severe looking black suit, opened the rings box, and like all the others, found five, heavy carved rings with symbols on them. I had no idea what the symbols were, so I popped the lot, all twenty, into my briefcase, and headed to the kitchen to make coffee, slice some bread and put out some cheddar cheese for early risers. There was a big bowl of fruit, a pitcher of juice, and three kinds of coffee. Magic. I hadn't been to the store in weeks, it seemed.
I guessed that milk maids were Girl Scouts. Very prepared. The process serving hunk was in the corner with Lisa, or Laura, or Linda, or Inge, or whatever. They were deep in conversation.
Well, it was time to head to court. I left a note to make sure the cows were all milked. Then, I checked the water under the Christmas Tree, gave my extraordinarily patient cat a well deserved hug and headed to the El.
TrueLove deserved justice. I still didn't know who it was, but he was certainly going to get justice.
Hey, justice well administered ensures Peace on Earth.
Merry Merry!
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