Look, Ma. No Hands!

I returned home for Heather and Derek’s (very touching) wedding, and Bryan and I learned that the Armstrongs were in town for the festivities. Though we’d never met them, we called often enough to guarantee that they would either meet us for breakfast or issue a restraining order. Jon, Heather, and lovely little Leta arrived at the Pork Store that morning, where Jon asked about my new line of work.

How do you like working at the convention?

It’s really fun and interesting, but the pace is terrifying.


Yeah, I’m used to being a freelancer, you know? I get up at ten, have a cup of tea, write a little, go to lunch with a girlfriend, write a little more. Boston is a different world.

How so?

Well, compared to my old life, it’s like stepping out of a warm bath and being thrown into a vat of ferrets.

Then I ate the baby’s hands. Armstrongs, I am sorry about your handless baby.