Ceejay

The woman walks into the courtroom in a form-fitting black mini dress that hugs every curve, deep neckline, high slit, heels clicking like a challenge. She knows exactly what she’s doing. Judge: GET OUT! Woman (smirking, slow turn, hand on hip): Excuse me, Your Honor? Judge (voice rising, eyes clearly struggling not to wander): I said GET OUT of my courtroom! Woman: But I haven’t even said anything yet… Judge: You don’t need to. You’re not allowed to dress like that in here. No way. Woman (looking down at herself, then back up through her lashes, voice soft and amused): What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? Judge: Young lady—look at yourself. This is a courtroom, not a nightclub. Woman (taking one slow step closer to the bench, voice dropping): Then maybe the courtroom needs better lighting… or better rules. I’ve never been told what to wear for justice. Judge (flushing, slamming the gavel once): Something appropriate. Something that shows you understand how serious this is. Woman (leaning just enough on the railing, smile sharp and seductive): Oh, I understand seriousness just fine. Question is… do you? Judge (clearing his throat hard): I’m not discussing your case while you’re dressed like that. Someone outside—escort her out. Woman (eyes widening theatrically, then laughing under her breath): Escort me out? For this? Am I being charged with looking too good, Your Honor? Judge: You’re being told to leave. NOW. And when you come back, wear something that doesn’t make the entire gallery forget why they’re here. Woman (turning toward the door, hips swaying deliberately, glancing back over one shoulder): Fine. But next time I might just wear less… so the distraction is even clearer. See you soon, Judge. Judge (half-muttering, half-barking): NEXT CASE!