THE FAT WOMAN AND THE SUSPICIOUS ONE

It was 2 in the morning (on a summer day). By order of the judge, I had delivered the children to their mother the night before. When there was a knock on the door of my apartment, I immediately had the feeling that something bad was about to happen to me.

They were in fact two women in uniform; one of the two, fat, in her forties, the other younger watched me from a distance while the first of her checked my wrists. I ask the woman what was going on and she replies in a professional tone:”We have well-founded suspicions that you are about to attempt suicide”! I reply with a smile “Actually I was trying to sleep, after a day that was not exactly fun and in view of another working day, not exactly peaceful”.The woman looks at me with the air of the heroine of an American show, one of those who solves the most difficult cases with the naturalness of an Opera de Paris dancer walking on a bed of eggshells.

Policewoman 1 (the fat one): “Unfortunately you have to come with us to the hospital for further checks, since your beloved wife has asked to save you from your suicide attempts and this, for the sake of your children”!

At that point, while I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, Policewoman 2 (the suspicious one) flaunted a pair of shiny handcuffs which she diligently placed on my wrists. In ten minutes of travel we arrived at the hospital, I was handcuffed like a criminal and preceded by the fat woman with a Clint Estwood cadence.