God, did we witness two female Solicitors butt horns today.
The one with the patent stilettos was taking NO shit from her mousey, sensible
trouser wearing adversary. Her tongue
was so vicious, I was surprised there wasn’t blood splattered up the walls when
she turned and left her counterpart, stunned with her mouth flopping open and
closed like a barn door in the wind. If
she is married, I pity her husband! If
he hasn’t done the dishes when she gets home, he would need a bloody good
lawyer and an affidavit in defence (listen to me – affidavit! 6 months ago I’d never even read one, let
alone written my autobiography in one J
)
It’s horrid looking around and seeing people have their
lives dictated by a Judge. It breaks my
heart that I am even there at all.
Julia, a Libran through and through who lives for harmony and
reconciliation is having her laundry aired in Family Court – it’s just cringe
worthy. It goes against everything in my
psyche to be there – arguing. I hate
it. I sit in the chair in front of the
magistrate and I can hear my pulse in my ears.
It’s distressing to see people exit the Courtroom in floods
of tears, things not going in their favour, judgements being made on their
lives by a complete stranger.
So as I was sat there, watching a woman leave the court so
visibly distraught I wanted to hug her, I thought about injecting a little
humour into the place.
When I went for my first mediation appointment at
Relationships Australia in Leederville, I had the brainwave of an internet
booth in the corner with Tinder available constantly – well, there was a
constant flow of newly available men and women pouring through their doors on a
daily basis. This could be taken to a
new level at Family Court. As you enter
the building and have your belongings x-rayed and walk through the ‘beepy
doorway of shame’ you could also have a few selfies taken and be given a
number; your details then appear on the in-court Tinder network – let’s call it
‘Courting’. Whilst waiting for your case
to be called, you could access the little booths and swipe left and right to
your heart’s content and at the end of the day, if there’s a match, you are
given their number to hunt them down, before having a ten minute ‘speed date’
in a conference room to see if you click and magic is made.
There could be a
silent disco in the soul-less hallways whilst waiting to be called into
Court. I mean, dance moves are VERY
important! He may be sexy and look like
he has his shit together, but if Dude ain’t got no rhythm…… game over! You could be given a t-shirt that has LED
panels which also tell your prospective mates what song you are listening
to. This can only help; I mean I’m not
too sure if I’d want to spend time with the man in the knitted jumper in the
corner, bobbing along to *living is without you* with tears streaking his
cheeks, think I’d be more inclined to gravitate to the happier looking chappy
throwing some shapes near the gents to the Venga Boys. I would instantly avoid anything 70’s,
Skrillex or remixed. There is ABSOLUTELY
no need for remixes; no wonder I have trust issues! Nothing worse that singing along to a well-known
ditty, only to have it mashed in with another tune, or stuttered into the next
song like Freddie 'Parrot face' Davis. It’s bad
enough when singers get the lyrics wrong in their own songs as it is when I’m
driving!
Or, there should be a Braxton Hicks, (or whatever that
personality test thingy is called *actually Myers & Briggs) questionnaire that had to be completed after
your kidneys are x-rayed at the start of the day. A quick glance over by Mr Babbage* (the
world’s most powerful super computer - as per Family Fortunes, circa 1987) and you would be instantly matched to a
fellow heart-broken loser from the Court for that day. Based on the concept that was used on Married
at First Sight (where people CHOSE to marry a complete stranger – and we all
know just HOW successful that was :/ but then again….. I lived with mine for 3
years and picked him and he still turned out to be a tosser, so what do I
know!?), your data would be analysed and you would be matched with your most
compatible loner.
They should scrap the coffee shop, install a wine car and
before you were allowed to be ‘dismissed’ from Court, you would have to spend a
minimum commitment of 30 minutes over a glass of chardonnay getting to know
your perfect match. There could be a
pop-up Wedding Fayre in the basement too, offering discounts if you book your
next wedding whilst having your divorce granted. What an incentive!
He’s so shady – he has moss growing down one side.
