Not Much of a Detective
"Major Crime." The name annoyed me when I first got here. I had my purse snatched the year before last, and it certainly seemed rather major to me -- who were they to dismiss it?
But now it makes me chuckle a bit, since I've found out the real "major crime" going on here. And that's the waste of those two fine-looking fellows on each other.
They're as different as the day is long, one clean-cut, the strong silent type, and the other a smaller, artsy sort, with beautiful long wavy hair that my daughter would give her eye teeth for, and even earrings some days -- but they're both very masculine in their own way, and certainly head-turners the both of them.
Of course I'm well past the age that I could have caught either eye, even if they weren't together, but still, it seems a waste, just on general principle. Like they say, "all the good ones are either married or gay," and in their case they've got both covered.
I tried to say as much to that foreign girl -- I don't even know her first name, no one uses it -- but she was having none of it. "Ellison and Sandy?" she says in that funny accent of hers.
"Well, obviously, dear," I say, but she keeps telling me they're just partners. Well certainly they are partners -- that's the in term for it these days, isn't it? I watch TV.
But she keeps at it, trying to explain away what looks to these eyes to be a good, solid marriage. I may only be a temp, but I do know about being married, since I was for 34 years before Frank passed, rest his soul.
Well, maybe it's for the best -- they obviously make each other very happy, and with the hours they work, they probably can't meet anyone more suitable than that foreign girl anyway.
She calls herself a detective? Hmph.
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