No Longer Sleeping With a Judge

            For the past 17 years, I have been sleeping with a judge.

            Let me quickly add that the judge I’ve been sleeping with is my wife, the Honorable Claudia Haltom, Magistrate of the Shelby County Juvenile Court in Memphis.

            But this week, for the first time in 17 years, I’m no longer sleeping with a judge.  I am sleeping with a retired judge.

            No, I have not left Claudia and run off with Sandra Day O’Connor.  I’m still sleeping with Her Honor, but she is now retired Judge Haltom.

            On Wednesday, Judge Claudia stepped down from the bench, and turned in her gavel and judicial robes.

            After a fabulously-successful judicial career, she now plans on doing an occasional mediation in family law cases and otherwise enjoy life.

            But she will continue to serve as Chief Justice in the Haltom household where she will most likely hold me in contempt from time to time.

            I’ve had a lot of interesting adventures in my life as the spouse of a judge.  One of the more interesting ones occurred a few years ago when Her Honor and I were driving up Highway 63 in rural Arkansas to our family cabin in Whitewater Country.

            My wife was driving, and I have to tell you that while 17 years ago she took an oath to uphold the law, she does not always obey the speed limits of Tennessee or Arkansas or any other state for that matter.  In fact, she is a graduate of the Tiger Woods Driving School.

            Well, my wife was in the driver’s seat of the family minivan, and we were cruising up Highway 63 sort of like Jeff Gordon heading for the checkered flag.

            Unfortunately, one of Arkansas’ finest (a State Trooper who earlier in his career handled sorority visits for then-Governor Clinton), saw us as we whizzed by, and so he turned the blue lights on and pursued us.

            My wife pulled over, and being the man of the house, I got out of the passenger side of the minivan and headed back to talk to the trooper.

            Since my wife was a Judge she had these special judicial license plates that identified the owner of the minivan as a member of the judiciary.  Apparently this Arkansas trooper had noticed this when he pulled us over because the first thing he said to me was, “Well, Judge, how are you doing?”

            My wife was still sitting in the minivan, and so it was obvious to me that I was the one the trooper was mistakenly addressing as “Judge.”

            I paused, thought about this for a second , and then replied, “Well, I’m doing fine.”

            The trooper then said to me, “Judge, is that the little lady sitting up there in the driver’s seat?”

            I was tempted to respond, in the words of the great Justice Henny Youngman, “That’s no lady, that’s my wife.”

            But instead, I said, “Yeah, that’s the little lady alright.”

            The trooper then said, “Judge, do you think you can order her to slow down a little bit?”

            At this point, feeling more than a little guilty, (and scared I might get caught) I said, “Officer, I’ve got to be honest with you.  That little lady is the Judge in our household.”

            The trooper responded, “Man, ain’t that the truth!  I’ve got the same problem in my house!”

            Well, congratulations, my dear!  After 17 wonderful years, you have signed your last judicial decree.  But something tells me that you’re about to start issuing a whole new set of orders.

            I’ve been told they are called “Honey do lists.”