Part I

Eleanor Rootes had a way of speaking to me that made me want to vomit. A dark and callous cloud followed her into a room and left the air lifeless, cold, and depressed. It left me depressed.

It is my professional human opinion that she disgraces the field of law and that of humanity, while we're on the subject. Loose, shriveled folds of skin hang around a leathery neck that hacks a hair ball every thirteenth word or so. Her Pomeranian counterpart, the only dreaded beast that would keep company with such a void, had an ironically similar hair-do and touted it in a likeness to its owner.  I believe that it is the arrogance; the talking-down to you that she does even though her Esq. has not filled much beyond three, typically size-12 font spaces at the end of her name. Certainly, it has not assisted her clients.

See Eleanor Rootes was the unfortunate assignment of a law-guardian for my son at a time he was barely off of breast milk. given the status of what qualifies as "normal" these days, that could be quite disconcerting. For the record: my son was one year old.  At our first introduction, she graced my downstairs apartment kitchen with her yellow pad, shaking off the outside and not closing the door behind her. Never the mind, I introduced her to my son, who sat with a full hamburger - all the fixin's, a side of broccoli florets,  and a sippy cup spread across his high-chair tray.