So, I'm leaving my office yesterday to go to court. I close the office door and turn to go down the stairs. When I'm half-way down the psychiatrist who has the office at the bottom of the stairs steps out of her office and stands at the bottom of the stairs, facing me.
"Do you represent prostitutes?"
"Ummmm . . . no."
"Well these two [pause] women came by your office a couple days ago looking for you and they were dressed . . . [look of slight horror]"
"That was my client's mother and girlfriend."
"Really? Because they were dressed very provocatively. One of them had nothing on from here to here." [motioning from about where low-cut jeans would end to where a high halter top would start]
"Yes, that's them. Hopefully they won't dress like that for court."
"You're sure they weren't prostitutes?"
"Yes, I've represented that kind of client before and generally she'll be broke and won't be able to get hold of a car to come here."
The psychiatrist looks none too pleased with that answer and gives me a strange look before heading up the stairs to parts unknown.
And then I leave for court.