A gentleman does not kiss and tell. His wife on the other hand…

There is something about a loss of consortium claim in a personal injury lawsuit. A little je ne ménage a trois sais quoi if you will.

For those of you not of the legal world (or those of you in it with a giant stick up your butt), a loss consortium claim basically means “loss of sex”. In other words, we have to sit in a conference room as the Plaintiff, under oath, speaks about his intimate life in explicit detail. All the while keeping a straight face.

The Plaintiff Husband’s Deposition

Opposing Counsel: Please describe your sexual relationship with your spouse.
Husband: It’s good.

The Plaintiff Wife’s Deposition

Opposing Counsel: Please describe your sexual relationship with your spouse.
Wife: Let me tell you, my husband is a jackrabbit. All he wants to do is f**k me. There is no satisfying that man. EVER. F**k. F**k. F**k. F**k. F**k. That’s all he wants to do. This accident is the worst thing that could ever have happened to our sex life. I am just not physically able to please him. I don’t know what to do. The strain on our marriage is massive...

Meanwhile, her husband is sitting right next to her with a face as red as a stop sign.

Going up?

I was part of the usual crush of lawyers getting into a Daley Center elevator this morning. 20 people crammed into a single box rocketing the collective 17 to 23 floors above means entertainment is always a possibility. Today, the lot of us get packed in and we fall silent for about five seconds until one attorney turns to another attorney out of the blue: “So Counselor, have you seen the latest Jonas Brother’s movie?” Silence.

I stood perpendicular against the car wall which allowed me to see all the other attorneys react to this: 15 of us are stifling laughter (I'm biting my lip), three cannot figure what is going on, the target of the question is attempting to figure out how to exit a moving elevator and the questioner just figures that she needs to keep digging herself a hole by asking more questions. “You said you were going to see it? I was just wondering…” No response. “Was it Jonas Brothers or Miley Cyrus?” Nada. “I thought you told me that you liked the last one that you saw?”

Finally, the attorney who seemed a wee bit embarrassed by the topic that his interrogator chose did the proper and just thing: he blamed his wife.

I love elevator rides.