Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting

[Oh, alright.  For Kim and Trish, who've kept me out of the Nielsen Ratings dump. ;)]

At first I blank out.  CSI found blood in my house.  Everyone knows as soon as they find blood, you’re guilty and it’s only a matter of time (less than an hour) before they find enough evidence to convict you.  I’m still not sure what it is I did, but CSI can now prove I did it anyway.

My brain kicks back in and I give a huge sigh of relief.  “Oh, that.  Prince Derryboy gets bad nosebleeds.  One night he stood at the door and yelled for us to come up, rather than getting a tissue.  By the time we got up the stairs, he had bled quite a bit.”

Sara mutters something about the low velocity spatter.  “You do know we already did nosebleeds in one episode, right?  I’m not sure this will fly with Grissom.” 

I sigh again.  “Look, I can’t help it if my real life is a repeat of your show.  Honest.”

I would say more, but Sara is getting a… disgusted look on her face.  She sprays something else on the walls.  Taking a cotton swab out of its neat little sheath, she rubs it on the wall and puts a single drop of some mysterious chemical on it.  “Ma’am, are you aware that there has been… feces all over this room??  I mean, it appears to have been cleaned, but there are still traces.”

I give her the same look I give the kids when they ask a redundant question.  “Of course I’m aware.  There was a whole diaper’s worth of poop.”  Feces is not a word in my active vocabulary.  Poop, on the other hand…

Sara Sidle starts to pack up her things.  “I think I’m finished here.”

Confused, I trail her back down the stairs.  The detective is waiting by the door.  I’m pleased to see that his vomit has, indeed, vanished.  “You’re… finished?”  Not that I’m complaining. 

She turns to face me square on.  “Ma’am, if I found a dead body in this house, you would probably be able to document that your kids were studying anatomy and one was already in medical school and the cadaver was just for him to practice on.  If I found a stray bullet in the wall, it would undoubtedly be from a French musket that you had built yourself.  I think the only thing I would need to worry about was if I came into your house and it was spotless, neat, and free of odor.  Then, at least, I might be able to go back with proof that you weren’t schooling your children.”  She turns to go out the door.

“Wait!”  I call out.  She stops without turning around.  “If you have to come back, could you send Warrick or Nick next time?  I mean, the rest of you are okay, but I think they have better character development and…”.

The CSI vehicle is around the corner before I can finish the sentence, so I go back into my slightly cluttered, slightly unclean, slightly smelly house to do some slightly boring math with my sons.