SquidgeWorld Archive

Chapter Text

Notes: //Hand on Bible// I swear that I am not making any of these holidays up. You can check this out at http://library.thinkquest.org/2886/INDEX.HTM
For those of you who have never seen chattery teeth--http://store.yahoo.com/opg/chatteeth.html Definition of spumoni is from http://eat.epicurious.com/dictionary/food/index.ssf?DEF_ID=4021

June 1, Tuesday

When Jim came into the Bullpen Blair was perched on the edge of Megan's desk. They both had their heads bent over a snapshot, and Blair was saying, "So, this is the new love of your life, eh? Damn, he's cute, Megan."

This took Jim aback. He knew Blair was bi--his ride-along partner had never made a secret of the fact--but Sandburg was usually pretty discrete during working hours. The thought that he might be openly ogling a picture of Megan's new boyfriend was, to say the least, startling.

Megan was saying, "How could I resist him? There he was, staring at me through the bars..."

//"Bars?"// Jim thought. //"No, Conner would have better sense than to fall for a perp--wouldn't she?"//

"...with those big eyes. He was black, he was beautiful, he had that long, silky hair..." she shrugged, "and he was already neutered and housetrained."

Jim blinked rapidly. He was over at the desk in two strides, plucking the snapshot from Blair's hands, and staring at it. A half-grown black cat stared back at him. He felt a stab of relief. He knew that some of the more entrenched officers had a hard time dealing with a strong, assertive woman, and Megan had been called a 'ball breaker' more than once. Jim didn't believe it, but that last bit of conversation had given him a turn. He handed it back. "A cat? Isn't that a little stereotypically single female?"

"I didn't plan on it," she admitted. "I'd just dropped by the SPCA to talk to a mate, and she started talking to me about how June was Adopt-a-Shelter-Cat Month. The next thing I knew I was trying to decide between Licorice, here, and a ginger tabby."

Jim shook his head. "Now I've heard everything. They'll promote anything, won't they?"

Blair frowned at him. "Are you saying that adopting shelter cats isn't a noble and worthwhile cause?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Saving some of the innocent creatures who wouldn't even //be// here if people had paid attention to Spay and Neuter Month in February?"

Jim blinked. "How do you know about //that//?"

"The Internet is a wonderful thing. Try it sometime."

"But why would you even //want// to know something like that?"

"I was researching holidays. I got curious as to how many different holidays there are."

Jim started ticking off on his fingers. "There are the biggies like New Year's, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Christmas, Easter..."

//ahem// "Do I detect a certain religious slant?"

"Hanukah and Passover. Gimme a minute, will you? Then you have the less big, like Mothers and Fathers Day, Valentine's Day, Labor and Memorial."

There was a moment of silence. Blair made a //please continue// motion. "And?"

Jim frowned. "And? After that you get into the more specialized ones--Arbor Day or St. Patrick's Day, Martin Luther King's Birthday... But if you're going to try to include President's Day, forget it. I was raised when we still celebrated Washington and Lincoln's birthday separately, instead of just going for a long weekend."

"And?"

Now Jim was becoming a little irritated. He didn't notice Megan suddenly starting to shuffle papers in an effort to hide her amused _expression. It was clear to the Aussie that Sandburg was in //'get Ellison'// mode, and she didn't want to hinder whatever he had planned. "And what? I suppose there are a few more, but there can't be *that* many."

"Au contraire, mon frere. As long as you don't consider just national or religious holidays, but include any day that has been //officially// designated to recognize or celebrate something, the list is damn near endless. Why, I could celebrate something different every day of the week for months on end."

"Right."

"Do I hear doubt?"

"You hear disbelief. Do you mean celebrate *on* the days specified?"

"Of course. What would be the point otherwise?"

"Then I figure you might be able to manage two or three weeks where you'd have something going *most* of the days, but that's all."

"I say I could do it for at least..." he glanced at Megan. "Name a fair figure."

She thought for a moment. "Why not make it one season? Summer, since this is the first of June. June, July, and August would make one full season."

"I could do that." Blair turned challenging eyes on Jim.

"Why are we arguing about this?" Jim asked.

"Can I, or can I not, do that?"

"All right, if you're going to make me say it, I don't believe you can. I'm sure you //think// you can, but you get wound up in your enthusiasms, and..." Blair was grinning at him. "Wait a minute." He shook his head. "No. Oh, no. You wouldn't dare."

Blair's hand shot up, one finger aloft, as if making a point. "I accept the dare!"

//"I did *not* dare you!//" Jim turned pleading eyes on Megan. "You're my witness. I did not say 'I dare you'--I said 'you wouldn't dare.'"

"Jim," Megan said judiciously, "I'm afraid that statement could, in fact, be interpreted as a dare in itself, rather than as a simple declaration."

"It wasn't either--it was a warning. Megan, back me up, here. You know what's going to happen if he tries to go through with this cockamamie project."

Megan nodded. "You'll be driven out of your mind. I wondered what I was going to do for entertainment this summer."

Jim was feeling a little stunned when he felt Blair poking his shoulder. "You already know that this is Adopt-a-Shelter-Cat Month, right? Know what June 1st is specifically?" Jim shook his head numbly. Blair's smile was angelic. "Dare Day."

June 2, Wednesday

Megan, Jim, and Rafe were in the break room. Rafe was peering sadly at an empty donut box. "Nothing but crumbs. I say that Vice is sneaking up here and raiding us."

"Damn them," said Megan vehemently. "I'm in desperate need of something sweet right now. If I find out for sure who took the last chocolate donut, I'm going to be up on charges. Speaking of wanting to kill a co-worker, how are things going with Blair, Jim?"

Rafe looked around, interested. "Yeah, Megan told me about that. What did he do for today?"

"Nothing. He hasn't even mentioned a holiday," said Jim smugly. As they walked back into the Bullpen he said, "I think he's forgotten about it."

"Wanna bet?" Rafe pointed at Jim's desk.

He'd left it pristine--all paperwork put away, all office supplies neatly aligned,--but now there was a small white box, wrapped in a shiny red ribbon, nestling in the exact center of the desk.

They all went and stood around it. Staring at the box, Jim said, "I'm almost afraid to open it."

"If you don't, I will," said Megan. "I've found that curiosity is a trait Licorice and I share." Jim unwrapped the box, then opened it. //*"Chocolate!"*// Speaking about sharing, Ellison..."

"Sure," //snatch grab stuff chew swallow// "...go ahead. Damn, you people are fast."

"It's chocolate, Jim," Megan said between bites.

Rafe looked at the chunk he was eating. "Actually, it's chocolate, marshmallows, and peanuts."

Jim thought. "S'mores?"

"Philistine," Megan scoffed. "S'mores are chocolate, graham crackers, and //toasted// marshmallows. This is..."

Blair came in from the hall. "Rocky Road. Happy Rocky Road Day, everybody."

Rafe took another bite of candy. "Megan told us about that 'every day's a holiday' thing Jim put you up to."

Jim gritted his teeth. "I did //not// put him up to it!"

"Oh, c'mon, Ellison. Maybe you didn't come right out and say 'Sandburg, I want you to attempt to drive me crazy by celebrating some obscure holiday every day for the next three months', but we all know how you two goad each other on."

Jim and Blair, almost in sync, each laid a hand flat on his chest, then chorused, "Me?"

"I could care less who started it," said Megan, taking another piece of candy. "I get chocolate out of it. Though I would have expected ice cream for this day."

"Ah, that would have been too easy," Blair smirked. "But if you want ice cream--wait."

June 3, Thursday

Jim stared at the white, red ribbon wrapped box sitting on his desk. He opened the box, lifted out a bumpy chunk of candy, then glanced at Megan. "Deja vu."

"It's not anything weird, Jim--it's just candy. Hand if over." He passed her the box, and she started rummaging in it.

"I don't understand it, though. He's supposed to be shooting for a different holiday each day." He glanced at Blair, who was sitting at his desk, hands folded over his belly as he watched his friends. "I thought yesterday was Rocky Road Day."

Blair nodded. "I thought yesterday was Rocky Road Day."

Jim frowned. "That's what I just said."

Blair frowned. "That's what I just said."

The frown deepened. "Oh, no you're not."

Mirrored _expression. "Oh, no you're not."

Jim looked at Megan. "I'm going to have to kill him."

"I'm going to have to kill him."

Megan smirked. "No, you're not. He hinted that ice cream was coming up later on."

Jim looked at Blair expectantly. Blair smiled. "You didn't copy her."

Blair shook his head. "You didn't copy her."

//"Aargh!"//

//"Aargh!"//

Simon came out of his office. "Why are my detective and his tag-along yelling?"

Jim pointed at Blair. "He's repeating everything I say!"

Blair was scribbling on a piece of paper. "He's repeating everything I say."

Simon sighed heavily. "You know, I thought I was going to avoid this sort of thing by having only one child. Just ignore him, Ellison."

"That's easy for you to say," Jim growled.

"That's easy for you to say," Blair chimed in cheerfully.

//*"See?"*//

"See?" Blair held up the piece of paper. It read REPEAT DAY.

Jim covered his eyes, groaning, as Megan burst out laughing. Simon shook his head. "So help me, Ellison, if I hear 'he's looking at me!' or 'he's touching me!'..."

June 4, Friday

Simon came out of his office to find Jim watching Megan chase Blair around the Bullpen. Blair was babbling, "Look, Megan--H. is married, and Jim, Joel, and Simon have been married, so they were out."

Megan didn't seem to be in the mood to listen. "You're dead, Sandy!" Even in the confines of the Bullpen, Blair was difficult to catch (he was a fast, slippery little booger), so she was pelting him with what looked like cards as she chased him.

"And Rafe and I don't qualify as maidens. You're the only single woman on the squad, so you were the natural target... oops. //Focus!// Natural //focus//."

Megan yelled something that would have given the FCC palpitations. Jim looked at Simon. "I love listening to an Aussie swear. They're so enthusiastic."

"It's bad enough I have to listen to my Mum about this," Megan snarled, managing to nail a dodging Sandburg in the forehead with a card that she skimmed with all the skill of a ninja throwing a spiked star. "Now I have you on my back, too? What next? Gonna start asking about grandkids?"

Simon looked at Jim. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Jim was looking very pleased. "It seems that I'm not the only one who's going to be driven crazy. This time Megan had the gift on //her// desk." Jim showed Simon a small, brightly colored cardboard box. Scrawled across the picture of a prim little old lady were the words Happy Old Maid Day.

June 5, 6, and 7, The Weekend, and Monday

That Monday everyone in the Bullpen knew about Blair's project, and there was a lot of speculation as to what Jim had endured over the weekend. Consequently, a hush fell over the room when Jim came in. He ignored them, taking his time removing and hanging up his cap, then beginning to check the previous day's paperwork. Finally Jim sat back and said, "Well, who's going to ask?"

Rafe raised his hand. "I'll bite. What happened Saturday?"

"I awoke and went downstairs to find most of the loft papered with sheets from The National Enquirer, The Star, and The World Weekly News. I had my choice of stories about Sasquatch, the Loch Ness Monster, and the Incredible Bat Boy. There were diets that would let me eat jelly donuts and lose twenty pounds a week..."

Megan spoke up. "I want a copy of that."

"There were also a lot of printed out emails. Some from a guy in Nigeria who wanted me to help him get his hands on several hundred million dollars that had been stolen by a corrupt government. Others offered me a free copy of a red velvet cake recipe that a famous restaurant charged a woman $250.00 for when she thought it was $2.50, so now she's getting revenge by distributing it. Oh, and for every email address I send him to check an email tracker, Bill Gates will send me $1,000.00."

Joel, amused, said, "And this was to celebrate?"

"Festival Of Popular Delusions Day. It was rather irritating. Tabloids are good for only one thing, and we already had plenty of toilet paper. Compared to that, Sunday... Sunday was just as irritating, but for a different reason." Everyone made 'go on' gestures. "Well, it seems that the 6th has *two* designated days--one of them being National Applesauce Cake Day."

Henri perked up. "I *love* applesauce cake!"

"So do I. And since the second holiday is Teacher's Day, and Blair is technically a teacher, I got to sit there and watch him eat it. I'm hoping for something better today, though, since it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day."

*"Yes!"* Megan pumped her fist in triumph. "What do you think? Fudgecicles, or soft serve? And he'd *better* have enough for the entire Bullpen."

It was debated the rest of the morning. When Blair arrived that afternoon, he looked up from depositing his backpack to find himself surrounded by colleagues. Even Simon had come to the door of his office. "Am I about to be informed of my rights?"

"You have the right to share," said Rafe.

Joel poked at the backpack. "You have the right to tell us how you've managed to bring chocolate ice cream in that, without dry ice."

Blair snapped his fingers. "That's right--Chocolate Ice Cream Day!"

Megan looked at Jim. "Isn't he cute when he tries to act all oblivious?"

"Sure, you can all share in the celebratory refreshment." Blair rummaged in his bag. He came up with a pack of gum, opened it, and began distributing sticks.

In moments the squad was staring at thin, flat strips, which were wrapped in garish paper. Henri said, "May I just be the first to say 'what the fuck?'"

Megan shook her head. "Chocolate //ice cream//, Sandy."

Blair unwrapped a stick and popped it in his mouth, starting to chew. "Read the wrapper."

Joel read. "Ye Olde Soda Shoppe Confections. Double Dutch Chocolate Ice Cream Gum."

Rafe dropped his stick on the desk. "Oh, that is just *so* wrong on *so* many different levels."

Blair pointed to it. "Aren't you going to at least try it?"

"I'm a firm believer that nothing should have the words 'ice cream' associated with it unless it's actually cold."

Megan sighed. "Well, normally I'd agree--but I could really use a chocolate fix right now, and the last of the rocky road is gone." She put the gum in her mouth, chewed for a few seconds, then spat it (none-too-daintily) into a wastebasket. "I need the name and address of that company. There has to be //something// we can charge them with."

Later that day Simon took Jim aside. "Are you planning to give a party any time soon?"

That was a little out of left field. "I hadn't //planned// on it--no. Why do you ask?"

"I thought maybe you were, and you'd enlisted Blair to help you figure out what supplies you needed. He just asked me what my favorite drink is. I thought he was making up a list of the booze you were going to need."

"No. But he's obviously up to something, so perhaps laying in a supply of alcohol to help deal with it isn't an entirely bad idea."

June 8, Tuesday

"Bloody hell."

Jim glanced over to Megan, who was staring at her computer. "What is it?"

Megan was smiling. "Sandy, the wily little bugger. I wondered why he was asking me what I liked to drink yesterday. I told him Guinness."

"You too? He asked Simon... Come to think of it, he asked me, too."

"And I know he asked Rafe and Joel, so I'm going to assume he got Henri, too."

"What caused the sudden outburst?"

"Have you checked your email yet?"

"Not yet."

"Do it, and see what you find."

Jim opened his email account. He sighed. "That spam filter doesn't work all that well. Here's yet another ad for Viagra, and one from something called Here's To Ya!"

"Open that."

"Are you kidding? It's pretty big. It could be a virus."

"Trust me."

"If we have to have techs in I'm telling Simon you made me do it." Jim opened the email. He blinked. Before him was a picture of a glass mug of beer. It was lightly frosted around the top, with beads of condensation just starting. The liquid was pale gold, and there was a bare skim of foam, with a few bubbles trickling artistically down the side.

Underneath it he read--

//When man first made beer,
he pulled out the stops.
God bless the grain,
And God bless the hops.
It can just quench your thirst,
Or give you a buzz.
It satisfies
Like nothing else does.
Man must believe in something,
That much is quite clear.
Saying that, I believe
I'll have another beer!

Hope you enjoy this Virtual Drink.
Happy Name Your Poison Day, Jim//

Jim found that he was smiling, and Megan said, "Penny for 'em."

"I'm just wishing that Blair had done this in Vice, too."

"Why would we wish anything nice on them?"

"Because Wannamaker, in a fit of temporary insanity, once admitted to me that his favorite drink is a Pink Squirrel."

June 9, Wednesday

The men's room on Major Crimes' floor was avoided most of the day. No one could bring them self to pluck the tiny, floating plastic bath toys out of the toilets and urinals, and not even the crustiest among them could bring himself to defile a childhood icon. Jim told Blair that if Disney ever found out, they'd probably sue--Donald Duck Day, or no Donald Duck Day.

June 10, Thursday

//whir smack whir smack//

Jim: "Blair..."

//whir smack whir smack//

Jim: "You've been doing that for an hour."

Blair: "No more than twenty minutes, man." //whir smack// "I dunno what the official record is..." //whir smack// "but it's damn sure longer than this. Hours..." //whir smack// "Maybe days." //whir smack//

Jim: "I *will* kill you if you go on that long. I'll strangle you with the very cord currently wrapped around your finger."

Blair: //whir smack// "I know you don't mean it yet--you aren't twitching. Look--front pass." //whir whoosh whir smack//

Jim: "Watch that thing! If you knock holes in any walls..."

Blair: "Hello, brick? I'm not the friggin' Hulk, so you don't have to worry about your walls being damaged. Here's a hang." //whiiiiiiiiiiir smack// "Walkin' the Dog." //whir bump bump bump whir smack// "Around the World." //whir swish smack// "Kinda quiet there, Jim."

Jim: "You could have at least gotten me one, too." //toss catch// "Hey! A Duncan Butterfly!" //tie whirr whirr smack smack// "You know, I bet if we practiced, we could do synchronized yo-yoing."

Blair: "Happy Yo-yo Day, Big Guy."

June 11, Friday

Sunday Jim came down the stairs in his boxers, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Okay, Blair, let's get this out of the way. What are you going to ambush me with... Oof!"

A solid, wiry body was suddenly plastered against him from behind. Sturdy arms locked around him and squeezed, and he felt both beard stubble and silky hair on his bare back. Blair chirped, "Happy National Hug Holiday!" He squeezed again, then let go and stepped back.

Jim found that he was near hyperventilating, but he managed to keep his voice calm, and hoped that the blush he could feel rising wasn't visible from behind. "You're kidding."

"Hey, it was either this, or King Kamehameha Day. I know you hate pineapple, and I didn't feel like wearing a grass skirt. A kilt, maybe, but not a hula skirt. I'll get breakfast."

Blair disappeared into the kitchen; leaving Jim to ponder the thought of Blair barelegged in a kilt. When he got to contemplating what the Scotsmen usually wore beneath a kilt--or //didn't// wear--he hurried upstairs to put on a few more layers of clothing.

June 12, Saturday

If everyone has been required to come in to work on a Saturday, one doesn't expect the mood to be generally cheerful. The sounds of hilarity coming from the Bullpen, then, were welcome, but puzzling. Simon, trying hard to look stern, stalked out of his office, only to find the Bullpen full of detectives who were howling with laughter. There was also a rather loud, rackety sound that seemed to come from each desk. He raised his voice over it. "Can someone explain this to me?"

Blair spoke up. "Well, today is Machine Day, and I knew I'd get my ass in trouble if I messed with computers, typewriters, faxes, copiers, or phones, so I had to bring in my own machines. My budget doesn't allow for much, but I have a friend who works in a novelties warehouse, and I figured that since they have moving parts, chattery teeth could be considered machines..."

June 13, Sunday

"Sandburg, I'm telling you that it doesn't count as juggling if you're only using two balls."

"Shut up, I'm concentrating."

"You have to use at least three, or you're just playing with a couple of balls." //Immediate blush as Jim realizes how that could sound.//

"Hey, it sounds like fun to me. Anyway, today is also Kitchen Klutzes of America Day. Imagine what I could do in your kitchen." //Silence.// "I thought so. Happy National Juggling Day, Jim."

June 14, Monday

"Blair, why is there a Jack-in-the-Box sitting on my desk?"

"Crank it and find out."

"It isn't going to explode, is it? Or spray me?"

"No, but I need to make a note of that for future reference. Lessee... Booby-trapped Jack-in-the-Box, loaded with spray of really strong, cheap perfume."

"I'm warning everyone at the station." //Pause/// "Except Wannamaker. Here goes nothing."

//Crank crank crank tinkle plunk chime plunk...//

As the familiar tune was completed, the lid snapped up and the box disgorged a grinning clown head. Clamped in its teeth was a note reading HAPPY POP GOES THE WEASEL DAY. While Jim stared at it, Blair clapped him on the shoulder. "It could have been worse. I could have sneaked your cell phone and programmed it to ring with that tune, then changed the password." Jim stared at him. "But I wanted to live."

June 15, Tuesday

Simon: "Why the hell is the Bullpen practically papered with Smiley faces?"

Jim: "Because it's Smile Power Day."

Simon: "Where's Blair? I need to have a serious talk with him."

Jim: "You're too late. He split three seconds after he slapped on the last strip of tape. He said not to bother to thank him for the sweet nostalgia burst from the seventies." //Simon covered his eyes.// "I talked him out of the continuous loop of 'Don't Worry--Be Happy' on the PA system."

June 16, Wednesday

Jim peered at the sign-up sheet on the downstairs bulletin board. "Hollering Contest?"

Blair nodded. "National Hollering Contest Day, June 16th. I parked that there yesterday. Looks like we have quite a sign-up already."

"You'll get us *all* fired."

"I'm holding it after shift, down in the garage. Imagine the echoes. And I already have Simon's permission. There's his signature, right there."

"I'll be damned. How can you judge something like this?"

"I believe it's usually done by crowd approval, but that wouldn't work here, so I borrowed something from the media department at Rainier that measures decibels."

"Megan has signed up, and so have Rafe and Joel. Henri hasn't."

"That reminds me." Blair took the pen hanging next to the sign-up sheet and scratched a name on the paper. "He asked me to sign for him, since he can't get downstairs till the contest."

"I don't believe they're willing to humiliate themselves like that."

"You haven't read the grand prize, have you?"

Jim read. He picked up the pen and signed his name, then walked away silently. "That's it--conserve your voice." Blair chuckled. "It's amazing what a bunch of police will do for a box of donuts."

June 17, Thursday

Jim stared at Blair for a minute, then sighed. "All right. I wasn't going to ask, but it's eating away at me. What's up with the Richard Nixon mask?"

"Happy Watergate Day."

"Oh, for crying out..."

"It was either this, or Eat Your Vegetables Day. You //could// have had me pressing spinach and beets on you all day."

"Happy Watergate Day, Tricky Dick."

June 18, Friday

"Heads up!"

Jim managed to catch the towel just before it wrapped around his face. "I guess I should be happy this isn't National Snap Your Roommate With a Wet Towel day. What's this for?"

"Heads up again."

Jim caught the book. "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?"

"Have you read it?"

"Of course. Douglas Adams was a genius."

"I concur. So, towel... Guide..."

"National Babblefish Day?"

"Nope."

"Ravenous Bugblatter Day?"

"Uh-uh."

"Uh... Pangalactic Gargleblaster Day?"

"No, but that would be a good one. It's International Panic Day, but I figured that it would be better if we took the Guide's advice and..."

"Don't panic. You never cease to amaze me."

"I try."

June 19, Saturday

"Sandburg, I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"C'mon, Jim, it'll be fun if we can get them to ask. After all, everyone is a little pissed about having to come in the second Saturday in a row. And it isn't as if it's going to be a big effort for you."

"I said I couldn't believe I let you talk me into it--I didn't say I wasn't going to do it."

"Great. Remember--keep it at half speed. Here we go."

They entered the Bullpen and both went about their usual routine in a slow, almost lazy manner. Both were watched suspiciously by the other members of Major Crimes. They were all waiting for some indication of the day's celebration, but there were no unexpected items sitting on desks, and no noticeably bizarre actions.

Near the end of the shift Henri said, "Okay, I've been elected to ask. Blair, have you given up on your holiday thing?"

"Perish the thought," said Blair. "In fact, I roped Jim into joining me today."

"But you two haven't done anything," Megan protested.

"Have so," Jim said firmly. "We've been celebrating all day right in front of you. It isn't our fault if you didn't catch it and join us."

Rafe folded his arms. "National Breathing Day?"

Jim and Blair exchanged glances. In unison they got up and moved to the door at a leisurely pace. Blair opened the door and held it, bowing to Jim to precede him. Jim bowed in return, then passed out into the hall. Blair turned and bowed to the room. "Happy World Sauntering Day." He sauntered out, closing the door.

There was a moment of silence in the room. Megan looked at Rafe. "You know, they're kind of cute together."

June 20, Sunday

Jim: "Why is there club soda out on the counter?"

Blair: "Guess."

Jim: "Hm... You know, Sally used to use club soda to make her waffles. Those suckers practically floated off the plate."

Blair: "Sounds delicious, but you don't own an waffle iron, do you?"

Jim: "Somehow I missed that in 'kitchen essentials'. Pancakes?"

Blair: "National Pancake Day is September 26th. Or you can have National Pancake Week, the last week in February."

Jim: "The only other recipes I can think of with club soda are cocktails, and I'm not drinking alcohol for breakfast. I've never even done that 'hair of the dog that bit you' thing after I've gotten drunk, and..."

Blair: "Will you chill? It isn't for a cocktail."

Jim: "Then what?"

//Blair takes a bottle of chocolate syrup out of the fridge, and a carton of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer.//

Blair: "It's Ice Cream Soda Day."

Jim: "Ice cream at this time of the morning?"

Blair: "Channeling William, are you?"

Jim: //pause// "You know, a little shot of vanilla extract really improves these things..."

June 21, Monday

Blair was sitting on the couch, watching The Weather Channel when Jim came down. Jim went to stand behind him. "You usually find out about the weather by sticking your head out the window. What gives?"

"Sh," Blair said. "He's about to give the extended forecast."

"How extended?"

"He's going to be giving the next two months an educated guess."

"And you need to know this why?"

"Sh."

The weathercaster was speaking, "...so the North-West coast up around Washington and Oregon can expect an even higher rainfall than usual this summer. Keep your umbrellas at the ready, Seattle and Cascade..."

"A-ha!" Blair punched PLAY on the tape player he was holding in his lap. //cuckoo cuckoo// He punched STOP. "There. Consider yourself warned." He got up and headed for the kitchen.

Jim followed him. "What the hell just happened?"

Blair was pouring juice. "We just celebrated Cuckoo Warning Day. Before you ask, if you hear a cuckoo on this day, it's going to be a wet summer."

Jim stared at him as he drank the juice. He went out into the living room and returned with the tape player. "Blair? I now have no doubt that you are..." He punched PLAY. //cuckoo cuckoo// He punched STOP and left the kitchen, followed by his Guide's laughter.

June 22, Tuesday

Tuesday was National Chocolate ?lair Day. Megan said, around a mouthful of pastry, that she might end up having to buy her jeans a size larger before the summer was out, but that she was considering asking Blair to marry her on Sadie Hawkins Day.

June 23, Wednesday

Blair: "It's Shrimp."

Jim: "No, it isn't."

Blair: "Coral?"

Jim: "No."

Blair: "Watermelon? Fuchsia? Flesh? Flush? Blush? No, //no! Not// blush. It's, uh, //salmon//! Yeah, salmon is a nice, manly color. Think of the virile salmon, swimming upstream to spawn." //Blair hopefully holds out the shirt currently under discussion.//

Jim: "I don't care what you call it, I'm not wearing that color to work, even if it *is* National Pink Day."

June 24, Thursday

Everyone in Major Crimes found a different present on their desk--a plastic dinosaur, an arrowhead, a postcard featuring a Toulouse Lautrec poster, a tiny crystal... Blair wasn't in till that afternoon, so there was a lot of speculation as to what sort of holiday this eclectic group of objects represented. Once again all attention was focused on Blair when he finally arrived.

He went right to the desk he'd been assigned, dropped his bag, and opened it. He pulled out a hat--the sort that might be worn by a uniformed officer--plopped it on his head, and turned to Megan, who was closest. She had the post card, and held it up expectantly. Blair pointed at the card, and began speaking. "This is a representation of a Toulouse Lautrec poster featuring Jane Avril--a famous Parisian cafe dancer before the turn of the century. The son of a French nobleman, Toulouse was the victim of a genetic bone condition that made him prone to fractures, and never grew taller than four feet, eleven inches tall. Always in frail health, his adulthood was marred by his physical handicaps and alcoholism, but he still became a great artist, creating an easily recognizable style, evoking in his own way a world of gaiety and humor. Born 1864, died 1901."

He bowed, and moved over to Rafe, who held up his plastic dinosaur. "This is a model of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The Rex is believed to be the largest meat eater to ever live. He was approximately thirty-seven feet long, and stood as tall as a giraffe. He had up to sixty teeth, some as long as your hand. Actually, as long as //Jim's// hand. Had men existed at that time, they would have slid down his gullet quite easily. They lived in the late Cretaceous period--about sixty-five to eighty-five million years ago, but they weren't officially named till 1905, when christened by Henry Fairfield Osborn."

"Son of a gun," said Rafe. "You really //can// learn something new every day."

Blair moved on to Henri, pointing at his crystal. "This is a quartz crystal. Quartz is one of the most abundant..."

Jim had come up behind him. He reached around and clapped a hand over his mouth. "The next words out of your mouth had better be an explanation of just what the heck all this is about, because I'm pretty sure there isn't a Talk Your Co-Workers To Death Day. Are you going to tell us?"

Blair nodded. Jim released him. "It's the only way I could figure to celebrate the Museum Comes to Life Day. Well, aside from showing up in costume--say a suit of armor--and disguises of any kind are generally not a good idea in a police station..."

June 25, Friday

Jim beamed. "Pancakes! I can't believe you got up early enough to cook pancakes on a weekday."

Blair said, "Well, I wasn't going to, but I decided that what I had planned wasn't enough."

"What did you have planned? I wonder if I should have honey on my cakes."

"No. And hang on a sec." Blair stepped around the corner, out of sight.

Jim lavished butter on his stack. "If we're out of honey, where's the syrup?"

"I said one sec." Blair stepped back into the kitchen. He was wearing an extremely fake beard that just hugged his chin and jaw line, and a black stovepipe hat made out of construction paper. He set a plastic bottle of syrup down before Jim. "Happy Log Cabin Day."

Jim stared at him, then finally said, "I'd prefer Mrs. Butterworth."

"Quit complaining, or the next time I fix you breakfast it will be to tear open a pack of granola bars."

"I don't deserve you, Sandburg."

"That can be taken two different ways, and I choose the positive one."

"Yeah--you chose right."

June 26, Saturday

Jim: "Okay, yesterday you threatened me with granola bars for breakfast. Now I'm being confronted with a pudding cup?"

Blair: "Happy National Chocolate Pudding Day."

Jim: //Peel eat// "Megan is going to be so pissed she missed this one."

June 27, Sunday

Blair: "Jim, have you read Dear Abbey yet?"

Jim: "Hm? I don't think this paper has her--I think this one is Ann Landers. Anyway, you know I'm still working on the sports section."

Blair: "Oh. Did Howard Cosell ever write a sports column?"

Jim: "Probably. He was never shy about sharing his thoughts."

//Quiet, save for the rustle of paper//

Blair: "You know what I miss? I can't find movie columns by, like, Rex Reed, or Pauline Kael anymore. All anyone wants to talk about is box office returns."

Jim: "M-hm."

//Silence//

Blair: "Are they still running Dave Barry?"

Jim: //Flips a few pages to check// "Yeah." //Goes back to reading.//

Blair: "We've lost a lot of good humor columnists. Lewis Grizzard, Erma Bombeck..."

Jim: "Blair?"

Blair: "Yes?"

Jim: "Happy National Columnists Day."

Blair: //Silence// "You checked the Internet, didn't you?"

Jim: "Uh-uh."

Blair: "You think you're hiding behind that paper. Well, I may not be a Sentinel, but I can //sense// that smug look, mister."

June 28, Monday

Henri stepped out of the Bullpen into the hall as Jim approached. He was shaking his head. "Okay, I thought that Sandburg was only eccentric, but I guess he's actually crazy."

"Not that I don't think you have reasons for that statement, but what makes you say so now?" Jim asked.

"You know, every place else in America they use handguns and rifles. Trust Cascade to be the first place to have someone come to work with an axe."

Jim didn't run into the Bullpen (he knew Blair wouldn't //really// be running amuck with an edged weapon--unless you counted his tongue. He *could* get pretty tart when he wanted to), but his steps were a little hurried as he entered the office.

Blair was, indeed, holding an axe--not a hatchet, but a great, honking, double-bit axe. He was wearing his usual jeans and flannel shirt, but he'd added a knit cap--with top pom-pom--pulled low on his forehead.

There was a small, stuffed, blue bull sitting near his booted feet. Jim pointed at it and said, "Please tell me that thing isn't named Babe."

"Since I couldn't grow several feet over night, this was the best I could do. Happy Paul Bunyan Day."

June 29, Tuesday

"I don't care if it *is* Camera Day, Sandburg," Jim growled. "You keep that thing *out* of the men's room."

"Party pooper."

June 30, Wednesday

//whish//

The Nerf ball that flew past Jim's nose had jagged, red-and-yellow crepe paper streamers fluttering behind it. "Hyakutaki!" Blair said.

"Is that Japanese for 'duck'?" Jim asked. Blair shook his head. "Fore?"

Blair tossed another fluttering Nerf ball. "Shoemaker!"

"What? National Cobblers Day? National Jockey Day? National Payless or Hushpuppies Day?"

"Maybe this is less obscure." Jim had to dodge another projectile. "Hale Bopp!"

Rafe, who had been watching the proceedings with a grin, perked up. "Oh! That's..."

Blair pointed at him. "Don't say it! He has to figure it out himself!"

"Hale Bopp?" Jim said. "Uh... Not the black actress who won an Oscar recently, huh?"

"I should nail you in the head with the last one for that," Blair scolded. "If you don't get this one, I'm going to have to think up something //really// irritating to do to you." He tossed the ball, crying, "Halley!"

Jim's hand shot up, and he caught the ball. "I know! Rock and Roll Pioneer Day!" Blair groaned. "Bill Halley and His Comets, right?"

Blair groaned again. "Even making allowances for generational pop culture references..." He noticed Jim's grin. "You! You're //teasing// me!"

"I got it before Hale Bopp. Comet Day?"

"Well... Meteor Day, but I have to admit that the only thing I could think of that might approach a meteor shower would have been sparklers or fireworks, and given fire safety regulation..."

July 1, Thursday

Jim: "Why does Megan look like she's ready to either cry, or whip someone's ass?"

Joel: "Blair has ice cream in the break room."

Jim: "That doesn't make any sense. She loves ice cream."

Joel: "The green bits in the vanilla weren't gumdrops, like she thought. They were pickle chunks."

Jim: "Ew!"

Joel: "And the brown bits in the chocolate were not chocolate chips, but lentils."

Jim: "Good God! We're lucky she wasn't carrying her service revolver! What's gotten into him?"

Joel: "Apparently Creative Ice Cream Flavor Day."

Jim: "He lives dangerously."

Joel: "I'll say. Did he ask if he could borrow some of your clothes?"

Jim: "As a matter of fact, he //did// borrow my best turtleneck. I was wondering why, because it would swim on him."

Joel: "It's also Build A Scarecrow Day." //Silence.// "Jim?"

Jim: "He damn sure better stuff with newspaper instead of straw."

July 2, Friday

Blair: "The reason there is a dashboard icon on your desk is that I couldn't figure out any other way to celebrate Visitation Of The Virgin Mary Day without riding into work pregnant and on a donkey."

July 3, Saturday

Jim lay in bed, listening to Blair, downstairs in the bathroom. He found that he did this occasionally. Usually all he heard was humming, or perhaps a little singing in a pleasant baritone voice. Today Blair seemed to be feeling talkative.

Blair: "Hey, Handsome. Lookin' good this morning. Hm." //Scritch scritch// "We can do with a shave today. Heh. Like that's a surprise." //Psssst// "So that's what I'll look like when I'm seventy, with a long, white beard." //Scrape scrape// "You're lookin' better than a razor ad, you stud, you."

"I don't believe this." Jim got up and went downstairs. The door to the bathroom was ajar, so he pushed it the rest of the way open. If Blair didn't remember to lock the door, then started talking to himself when he *knew* Jim would hear and be curious, he could damn well do without the privacy.

Jim found his roommate standing in front of the sink, staring into the mirror as he shaved the last patch of lather off his jaw. He glanced at Jim and said cheerfully, "Hey."

Blair was wearing nothing except a towel wrapped low around his hips. At least Jim //assumed// that was all he was wearing. The only way to be sure would have been to walk over and jerk the towel off to see if he had underwear or swim trunks underneath, but the small chance of that being true (and the fact that Blair //was// still holding a razor) sort of ruled that action out. "What are you doing?" Blair wiggled the blade, then rinsed it in the sink. "Yes, I can see that. You've shaved most mornings since you moved in here, and you haven't done a monologue. What gives? It's something having to do with the holidays, isn't it?"

"Clever boy." Blair bent and splashed water on his face, then shut off the tap and took a hand towel from the rack. As he patted his cheeks dry he said, "But what is the holiday?"

There was a sharp, coppery scent, and Jim said, "You cut yourself."

Surprised, Blair peered in the mirror. "No, I didn't."

"Who's the Sentinel here? I smell the blood."

Blair was dripping some aftershave in his hand. "Hey, I know you //can// scent blood. I'm just saying that maybe the steam, soap scent, etcetera..."

"I'm telling you that you broke skin, even if you can't see it, or feel it."

Blair had rubbed his palms together, and was patting his cheeks. His eyes suddenly flew open. "//Yow!//"

As he quickly splashed more water on his face Jim said, "Told ya so, Kevin. Since I was right about that I think it's only proper that you tell me what today is instead of making me guess."

"Do you know you have a high potential for being insufferable? It's Compliment Your Mirror Day." He stepped aside and gestured at the mirror. "Your turn."

Jim shrugged and leaned closer to the mirror. He studied his _expression, then picked up a clean towel, and polished away a couple of water spots. "You're looking particularly shiny today. I don't think I've ever seen such a perfect reflection. Well done." He looked at Blair. "Don't forget--towels go in the hamper, not on the floor."

Jim walked out, but he grinned at the shout of, "Insufferable!" that followed him.

July 4, Sunday

//"Bubba shot the jukebox last night..."//

//"I was borned a coal miner's dotter..."//

//"Hello, darlin'. Nice to see you. It's been a long time..."//

//"Crazy. Crazy for feelin' so lonely..."//

//"Don't tell my heart--my achey-breaky heart..."//

"That's //*enough*//!"

"Aw, c'mon, Jim."

"I don't care if it *is* National Country Music Day! Plays something that doesn't twang."

"If you insist."

//Thump thump thump "Save a horse--ride a cowboy..."//

"You're staring, Jim."

"//*That's*// country?"

"They did it on the CMA Awards show--right after Gretchen Wilson sang //Redneck Woman//." Jim looked skeptical. "I think at least one of the guys was wearing a cowboy hat."

"Oh, well, then..."

July 5, Monday

Blair: "What am I doing for today? I don't think it's necessary for me to do anything. You sort of naturally celebrate this holiday."

Jim: "If you say something like National Anal Retentive Day..."

Blair: "Workaholics Day."

Jim: "I can live with that."

July 6, Tuesday

The detectives of Major Crimes stared at the red-and-white striped cardboard bucket. Megan suggested National Fast Food Day. Rafe thought it might be Kentucky's admission into the United States anniversary. Joel told them to quit tap dancing around the obvious--National Fried Chicken Day. For that he claimed a breast //and// a drumstick, and //two// of the biscuits.

July 7, Wednesday

As they ate the ice cream concoctions Blair made to celebrate National Strawberry Sundae Day, Megan announced that she had forgiven him for the pickle ice cream. She still wasn't going to marry him, but if he kept up with the goodies, she'd let him father her first child some day.

July 8, Thursday

Simon confiscated the Gameboy on Video Games Day, but despite his acidic comments about time wasting, Jim confided to Blair that he heard suspicious bleeping and blooping noises coming from Banks' office later.

July 9, Friday

On National Sugar Cookie Day, over a plate of still warm, home baked, vanilla scented cookies, Rafe warned Megan that if Blair kept bringing these sorts of goodies he might have to reconsider his sexual orientation and take Blair away from her. He didn't notice the glare Jim gave him. Blair did.

July 10, Saturday

"A clever detective named Ellison, could put the fear of God in any felon. While he was big and buff, it was his wit and super senses that did the stuff." Blair looked at Jim expectantly.

"If that was supposed to be a limerick, there weren't enough lines..." Jim said.

"And the rhyme scheme was wrong--I know. Captain Simon Banks, keeps order in the ranks. His patience must be inordinate, for him to deal with his subordinates."

"He'd agree with that."

"Megan Conner is a wonder, she's visiting the squad from Down Under. But if you're tempted to make a pass, remember she's trained to kick your..."

"I dare you to tell that one to her."

Blair stuck out his tongue. "She'll probably want a T-shirt with the saying on it. Figured out the holiday?"

"I know it's for some form of poetry, but I admit it escapes me."

"To your credit, it isn't as well known as, say, haiku. It's called a Clerihew, after the man who created it. It's a witty satiric verse containing two rhymed couplets and mentioning a famous person. Well, or just mentioning a person, in our case."

"Actually, that's pretty cool."

"I thought so."

They went back to what they had been doing before--watching television. At the next commercial, Jim shifted to half-face Blair. Blair raised his eyebrows questioningly. Jim said slowly, "Blair Sandburg can obfuscate, at a perfectly alarming rate. But I know that fineness lurks, beneath his many glaring quirks."

Blair stared at him. Jim had several seconds to regret his impulse--then Blair grinned. "Jim Ellison--master of the backhand compliment. Thanks, man. I like you, too."

The program came back on and they went back to watching television, but each now felt a small, private, inner glow of warmth.

July 11, Sunday

"What are we doing here, Chief?" They'd just parked before a low brick building. The sign in front of it said Crescent Managed Living. "An old folks home?"

"A managed living facility, Jim. Mostly old folks, yes, but some younger ones who can't quite live on their own." He opened the door, picking his guitar up from where it had rested on the floorboard. "I'm going to do a little entertaining--say ninety minutes, two hours--then we can go to dinner."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Come inside. My singing doesn't make your ears bleed, and you might find something to do."

Jim muttered under his breath, but followed Blair inside. He was a little surprised when Blair was greeted by the staff with obviously affectionate familiarity. They made their way to a recreation room. There were several elderly men and women sitting and watching television, but when Blair came through the door, the set was eagerly turned off. He greeted most of them by name, took a chair, and started off by obliging one blushing lady with lavender hair by singing //I Gave My Love a Cherry//.

Jim sat off to the side, watching as Blair sang, and charmed the residents between songs. The young man flirted shamelessly with the women, and listened with close attention to whatever the men wanted to talk about. A thin, reedy old gent, bald as an egg, sat beside Jim and looked at him. "You must be a good friend of the young feller."

Jim regarded him. "I'd like to think so."

The old guy nodded. "Must be. You're the only one he's ever brought by. He's gonna go on for some time. Wanna play checkers?"

"Sure."

The other man beamed, flashing an excellent pair of dentures. "Great! Nobody wants to play plain checkers these days--they all want chess or that fool Backgammon. The set's on the table over there."

They went and played checkers, several games. Jim learned that his checker partner was named Hiram, that he'd outlived two wives and two children, and that the two surviving kids (both in their fifties) never seemed to find the time to come visit. "Too busy livin', they think. Hah. Got news for them--if they don't drop dead from a stroke or crack up one of their fancy cars, they're likely to end up just where I am now, wonderin' why //their// kids never come by."

When they were ready to leave, Jim noticed that one of the ladies took Blair aside. Their heads close together, she whispered to him, glancing at Jim. Blair looked over, too, smiled, and whispered to her. She giggled, blushed, and hurried away. As Blair approached, Jim said, "What was that all about?"

"That's Clarice. She's just seen //Hello, Dolly!// too many times--thinks she's a matchmaker." Jim could feel himself gaping, but before he could form a response Blair said, "Figured out what today is?"

"No, but I've kind of enjoyed it."

"Good! It's National Cheer Up The Lonely Day. I was a little surprised to run into this one, but we need more like it. I usually come by a couple of times a month, so it wasn't a hardship."

"You've got a soft heart under all that hair."

"Says the man who once told me that checkers were the gaming excitement equivalent of picking your teeth."

July 12, Monday

Blair: "I can't help it if the commercial snack cake version isn't as good as home made. I got this at the corner store. If you wanted home made pecan pie to celebrate National Pecan Pie Day, you shouldn't have eaten that bag of pecan halves when you found it. By the time I realized they were gone, it was too late to buy more."

Jim: "I didn't know you were saving them."

Blair: "Didn't the fact that I've never bought them before, and I had them hidden behind my box of herbal tea tell you anything?"

July 13, Tuesday

Jim woke up to find a series of Post-It notes on the stairs. He read them as he came down.

//The hole in the ozone has closed!//

//Crime rates are down!//

//Peace has been declared in the Middle East!//

//The Catholics and the Protestants are partying together in Northern Ireland!//

//A Wonderburger and large fries has been declared the world's healthiest meal! Add chili to fries, and lose weight!//

//Donald Trump envies your financial stability!//

//Mensa won't have you because you're over qualified!//

He located Blair in the kitchen, waiting for him with his hands behind his back and a sly smile on his face. "What gives with the Pollyanna notes?"

"I've found my own place and will be moving out." Jim stared at him a moment, then turned and left the room without another word. Blair was bewildered. He hesitantly went up the stairs to find Jim sitting on his bed, back to him. "Jim? What's wrong?"

"That's a hell of a thing to spring on a person right out of the blue." His voice was grim.

"But you've been after me to move out for ages. I thought..."

"When was the last time I mentioned it?"

Blair thought. "You know, I can't remember the last time. You don't even do it when you're pissed at me."

"Right. And you just throw that at me like it's nothing. If you have problems with this arrangement, I would have thought you'd talk about it. You've always been Mister Express Yourself."

Blair got brave and went over and sat beside Jim. "I don't have any problems with this arrangement. I've never had it so good. You're the best roommate I've ever had--including Larry. Besides," he touched Jim's shoulder. "We're friends, right?"

Jim finally looked over at him. "That's what I thought. But this..."

Blair sighed. "Well, at least one of these things had to backfire, and this did so rather spectacularly."

"You mean this is part of the holiday thing?" Blair nodded. "Good Christ, Chief, what the hell could scaring the pants off me like that celebrate? Give Your Roommate a Heart Attack Day?"

"I was going to clap this on you, but I think it's more appropriate for me to wear it." Blair reached into his back pocket. He donned a multi-colored cloth cap--one with three dangling points, each tipped with a bell. "Fool's Paradise Day."

"You thought that abruptly moving out would be part of my idea of Paradise?" Blair nodded. "Maybe the fool's cap //is// appropriate. I'll fix breakfast." He stood up and flicked one of the bells dangling before Blair's face, making it jingle, then went downstairs, leaving his Guide with a pleased, goofy smile on his face.

July 14, Wednesday

Simon: "Why are there large posters of The Birth of Venus and Michelangelo's David on the wall?"

Jim: "Because it's National Nude Day, and I wasn't going to let him streak, even if he had planned to."

Megan: "Damn!"

July 15, Thursday

Jim stared at the dish of pale yellow stuff in front of him. "Banana pudding?"

"Do you smell bananas?" Blair asked.

"No."

"It's tapioca."

"National Nursery Food Day? Bland Diet Day?"

"Do you look for zebras instead of horses when you hear hoof beats? National Tapioca Day."

"Oh. Okay." He ate a bite. "A little bland, but okay."

"Just a second." Blair got a package out of the cabinet, and crumbled some brown granules on the pudding. "Try that."

Jim took a bite, and beamed. "Maple sugar!"

"It's also Respect Canada Day."

"Mm. Have you seen that show Due South--the one with the Mountie? Man, he's enough to make you respect Canada." Jim continued eating, purposefully ignoring Blair's speculative look.

July 16, Friday.

"Look! //Three// balls! I've been practicing. Oops."

"Blair, you're not supposed to repeat the holidays."

"I'm not. Oops. Damn, the Flying Karamozov Brothers make it look so easy."

"You are so. Why do I usually feel like I'm about five when I argue with you? Anyway, you've already done juggling. It was on, uh... Sometime around the middle of last month." He blinked. "I just realized how long this has been going on. But you're repeating yourself."

"No, I'm not. //That// was National Juggling Day."

"So what it this?"

"*International* Juggling Day. Oops." Jim walked off. "And quit muttering under your breath about semantics!"

July 17, Saturday

It was another working Saturday (there were rumors that The Brass were shooting for a record), but everyone in the Bullpen was busy scraping the last of their ice cream out of their Styrofoam dishes, so they weren't as gloomy as they might have been. "That is some of the best ice cream I've ever had," Rafe declared.

"I second that. Blair, why couldn't you have done //this// Peach Cobbler Ice Cream on the unusual ice cream day instead of that pickle monstrosity?"

Blair set aside his own empty cup. "Because it took me some time to get my hands on this. You through, Jim?"

"I don't know," Jim replied. "Is there any left?"

"Some. You know where to find it in the break room."

"If you're getting seconds, I want some, too!" Henri said quickly, handing over his cup. Jim ended up going for a second round for everyone, grumbling about needing a tray. When he was gone, Henri said, "God bless National Peach Ice Cream Day. My grandma used to hand crank it when she got the notion, but she didn't very often. And I'm going to risk having her rise from the grave to kick my ungrateful butt by saying that this was even better than hers. I've never seen this brand before, though. Where did you find it?"

Blair grinned. "You're out of luck, Henri. I had to have this sent to me. It's called Blue Bell, and it's only available in the South. I just happen to have a friend in Texas, and I talked her into having some shipped to me. I checked, and there's a place online that will ship you two half gallons for just under ninety dollars." He got lots of stares for this. "That includes shipping with dry ice, and yes, she's fond of me."

July 18, Sunday

"Is it just me," said Jim, "Or are there an awful lot of ice cream days?"

"It isn't just you." Blair set the bowl of vanilla ice cream, covered with tiny black dots in front of Jim.

"Hey, chocolate sprinkles!" He reached for his spoon.

"Wait a second." Blair hurried over to the front door, opening it. "Okay, go ahead." Jim looked at him suspiciously. "Hand on my heart, it's National Ice Cream Day." Jim took a bite. He dropped the spoon with a clatter, clapping his hand over his mouth as his eyes went wide. "It's also National Caviar Day. Enjoy!" //Slam.//

It took Jim a fast gargle with mouthwash to get the taste out of his mouth. He muttered at his reflection. "We *are* going to have to figure out some way to get him for this, you know that, right?" He closed his eyes for a moment, and smiled. //And getting him sounds like a *real* good idea.//

July 19, Monday

Henri came into the Bullpen. "Why is there a gift wrapped package in the refrigerator in the break room?"

"It's got your name on it," said Blair. "Go find out."

Henri went back to the break room and returned a little later, looking not at all enlightened. "You're giving me a pound of bacon?"

"Rath thick cut--premium stuff, if you're not worried about sodium and nitrates."

"I may regret asking this, but why?"

Blair started to say something, but Jim broke in. "Because you're the only married member of this group."

"Oh-kay."

"It's Flitch Day." Henri stared at him. "As in flitch of bacon."

"Say what?"

"Okay, I couldn't afford a whole flitch--that's a slab--so you have to make do with a pound."

"That doesn't explain why I'm being gifted."

"The tradition is that a flitch of bacon went to any married couple who had lived together in harmony and fidelity for the last year. Have you?"

"Fidelity? Sure. Harmony..." He paused.

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

"Have you priced this stuff lately, Jim? Hell yeah, we've been as harmonious as a barbershop quartet."

CONTINUES