One might suppose that Bill and I had a particularly close friendship, given that he’d asked me to babysit his fish while he swanned around at some conference in Hawaii, every hussy on the island shaking her grass-skirted booty in his face. One would, alas, suppose wrong. I am everyone’s house-sitter of choice; something to do with being a clean-freak, I’m told. People have been known to go away solely to get me to blitz their house for them. At least, that’s what Bill told me, right before he cautioned me not to let people take advantage, then in the same breath asked me if I’d do him a teensy little favor.
After I’d got over the disappointment of learning his wee favoretto had nothing whatsoever to do with the contents of his rugged, manly trousers, I was ready enough to say yes. My own
