Fortunately, my giant fiancé, who had been at the buffet table brownnosing his boss, bear-hugged me from behind, and while I kicked at Rebecca and sent a mule flying that caught her in the mouth, he carried me outside and, before driving me away, he let me pound out my hyperventilating craziness on his chest.
“You’re kinda strange,” a middle-school wise girl once told me at her Boys and Girls Club, where I do an outreach program. At each show stop, I give youngsters “the talk”: study hard, eat mostly fruits and vegetables, exercise often, stay away from drugs, don’t live your life on your phone, live a life of good karma. Then, modestly dressed in a tracksuit, I do the PG version of my hula hoop act.
I smiled at the wise girl as her posse laughed. I am kinda strange. A grown woman who is
