Do I Exaggerate? Boy, Do I, And

Most People, Or At Least Most Of The People That I've Come Into Contact With, Would Like To Be Written About.

Perhaps The Little Negro Girl Was Holding A Concealed Razor Blade. Maybe She Was One Of The Troublemakers Out For A Fresh White Scalp.

If I'm Stuck, I Get Up From My Chair And I Wash Windows. Or... Clean The Bathroom. Or Vacuum The Attic. There's Always Something To Be Done.

I Can't Seem To Fathom That The Things Important To Me Are Not Important To Other People As Well, And So I Come Off Sounding Like A Missionary, Someone Whose Job It Is To Convert Rather Than Listen.

And When Hugh Would Grow Progressively Gandhi On Me, I'd Remind Him That These Were Pests---disease Carriers Who Feasted Upon The Dead And Then Came Indoors To Dance Upon Our Silverware.