I followed Sir down the red carpeted hall until we turned the corner and found ourselves at an archway trimmed in gold. It led into a vast dining room where a clear chandelier blazing with light hovered over a long, grand dining table made of some dark, heavy wood.
At first I thought the chandelier must be made of ice, like so many other things on O’nagga Nine. But then I saw a huge fireplace located in a wall behind the head of the table and realized that the heat it was putting out would have melted anything icy—so the chandelier must be made of some kind of clear crystals or gems.
The next thing that drew my eye were the people sitting around the table, apparently waiting for us. Two of them looked like regular Naggians—a man and a woman, both dressed in rich, ostentatious clothing. The man wore a kind of robe that looked like an old-fashioned smoking jacket—maroon with golden trim. The woman had on a long blue dress with a very high collar—it went up almost to the lobes of her ears. The sleeves of the gown went down to her wrists as well. Both of them had long black hair and glowing blue eyes.
The man seated at the head of the table must be the Baron himself, I speculated. He didn’t look quite like the other two—although he did have the same glowing blue eyes and long white fangs that all Naggians seemed to possess.
But he also had two curling horns on either side of his forehead and his white skin was marked with curving blue tattoos. They were easy to see, since his shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing muscular forearms. I could also see another tattoo curling up one side of his thick neck.
I wondered at first why he looked so different and then remembered that Sir had said he was only half Naggian and his other half was Braxian. He was certainly bigger than most of the Naggian men I had seen—he was broader across the shoulders and more muscular. He was also dressed more casually than the other two at the table, wearing just a plain blue shirt and black trousers.
As the servant bowed us into the room and introduced us, all three of the people at the table rose.
“Ah, Overlord!” the Baron rumbled, coming forward with both hands outstretched. “It’s good to meet you in person.” He wasn’t nearly as tall as Sir, but he was still a good seven feet tall, I thought—why did all these aliens have to be so big? I felt like a little kid at the adult’s table among them.
“The feeling is mutual,” Sir said, taking the Baron’s offered hands in a firm grip. “Thank you for having me and little one, here,” he added, nodding at me. “No other Naggian Lord on the planet was willing to meet with me.”
“Well, that’s their fucking loss, isn’t it?” the Baron said, shrugging. “I’m afraid many of my people are set in their ways but I’m always interested in meeting and doing business with people from other worlds and galaxies. Come…” He made an expansive gesture towards the dining table. “Have a seat and meet my friends.”
“Thank you.” Sir and I followed him to the long oval dining table where the servant was already busy pulling chairs out for us.
“This is Mr. Azz’lx, my second in command—couldn’t run my business without him,” the Baron said, introducing the Naggian man with the maroon robe on. And this is his lovely wife, Dru’silla.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Azz’lx said, nodding his head and grinning widely enough to show his fangs. “Any friend of Vik’tor’s is a friend of mine!”
There was something about him I didn’t like, I thought—he had a narrow, weasely face and he seemed a bit too eager to please. His wife, however, was the opposite. She simply gave Sir a frosty nod and murmured,
“Charmed,” in a flat voice that seemed to indicate the exact opposite.
“It’s good to meet you both,” Sir said, nodding. “I am Sir Barinthian Ver’Toklar the Fourteenth but please call me ‘Bart’ if that’s easier for you.”
I was surprised to hear him using the name I had picked out for him before he had informed me I would be calling him “Sir.” Had he chosen it because of me or was it really the informal name he gave to acquaintances?
“Sir Bart comes from Korrigon Four in a galaxy close to ours,” Baron Vik’tor told Azz’lx and Dru’silla. “We’ve been in contact for some time. But please, won’t you introduce us to your lady?” he said to Sir, nodding at me.
“Ah, this is little one,” Sir said. “She is not my mate or my wife—she is my beloved pet—a distinction we Korrigons take very seriously.”
“A pet, eh?” Baron Vik’tor looked at me with apparent interest. “Where did you get her? She doesn’t look like any of the Twelve Peoples I’ve ever seen.”
“She comes from a Closed World called ‘Earth’ by its inhabitants,” Sir told him.
“Fuck, yes!” The Baron snapped his fingers. “I remember—the one the Commercians set up shop on. Are they selling Earth females?”
“They are,” Sir said, while I held my tongue with some difficulty. “Pure One females—some with special powers granted them by the Ancient Ones labeled ‘La-ti-zals’.”
The Baron raised his black eyebrows in apparent surprise.
“And your, er, pet is one of these La-ti-zals?”
“She is indeed,” Sir said proudly. “She has shown an amazing aptitude with languages.”
“And I can also make the bathroom fixtures aboard your ship obey me, don’t forget that,” I remarked acerbically. I didn’t like being discussed like I wasn’t even there and I thought it was time Sir realized that.
“You can indeed,” Sir said gravely, looking down at me.
“Well, now that we all know each other, let’s all have a seat at the table and do the blood exchange,” Baron Vik’tor said.
At this, I saw the Naggian woman called Dru’silla make a face but she didn’t say anything.
“Er…blood exchange?” I whispered to Sir, as we took our seats.
“A Naggian custom,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, little one—it’s quite safe. Let’s be seated.”
Much like Sir’s furniture back at the ship, the dining table and chairs were made for people considerably larger than me. So when I took a seat, I found that the top of the table came up to my chin. I was about to get up on my knees, which was how I usually managed at Sir’s round picnic table in the ship, when Baron Vik’tor called the servant and asked for a “bolster” for me to sit on.
The bolster turned out to be a very thick, heavy cushion covered in soft, dense fur which was extremely comfortable. It supported me beautifully and raised me to the correct height at the table so I didn’t have to feel like a little kid at the adult’s table.
“Thank you!” I said gratefully to the Baron when I was situated. “This is just perfect.”
“You like it?” he asked. “I’m glad it suits you, Lady…er, little one.”
“It absolutely does,” I told him. “In fact, I wish I had something like it on Sir’s ship. All of his furniture is twice as big as the things I’m used to back home on Earth.”
Sir frowned.
“I had no idea you wanted such a thing—I can synthesize you one just like it when we get back to the ship if you like.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. “I’ll be sure to remind you.”
“Well.” Baron Vik’tor clapped his hands together. “Let’s get on with the blood exchange and then we can start the feast!”
I still didn’t know what he meant by “the blood exchange” but it soon became apparent as the servants brought around tiny clear crystal goblets, about the size of thimbles, as well as some bright silver spikes, a few centimeters long, mounted on matching crystal bases. To me, they looked a little like the spindle Sleeping Beauty sticks her finger with in the old Disney movie.
The Baron matter-of-factly reached out and pricked his index finger on the silver spike in front of him. Then he held his finger over one of the tiny crystal goblets and let a droplet of deep purple blood fall into it. He then handed the tiny goblet with the drop of his blood to Sir and waited expectantly.
Sir pricked his finger and I watched with interest as a droplet of purple blood came out. It was a different shade than the Baron’s, being more of a reddish purple while Baron Vik’tor’s had more blue in it. Sir let the droplet fall into the goblet in front of him and handed it to the Baron.
As though by mutual consent, both men raised the tiny goblets to their lips and sipped the drops of blood they had exchanged. The sight made me feel kind of queasy—drinking blood wasn’t my thing—and I was glad I didn’t have to drink anyone’s blood or let them drink mine.
But then Baron Vik’tor said,
“And now, the ladies,” and nodded to me and Dru’silla.
The Naggian woman lifted her chin and looked down her nose at me.
“I am not exchanging blood with a mere pet” she declared in a haughty voice. “I am a daughter of the Ninth House! My father is the Lord Protectorate of the H’rxk’bas Region!”
“Dru’silla, please!” Azz’lx hissed, glaring at her. “These are important visitors—we don’t want to offend them, or Vik’tor!”
“No, that’s quite all right,” I said, lifting my chin as well. “I don’t think we ought to exchange blood, either. After all, my Great Aunt is the Lady of Rolling Acres Estates back on Earth. And she is the Keeper of the Special Seven,” I added for good measure, thinking of Aunt Maizy’s little dogs. “I don’t think she would like me to pollute our sacred blood line by mixing it with someone who isn’t quite up to our social standing.”
“Not up to your social standing?” Dru’silla demanded, looking at me in apparent surprise.
“You heard me,” I said loftily, keeping my chin high. I hadn’t wanted to prick my finger or drink anyone else’s blood in the first place, so her snobbery suited me just fine.
“Fuck it, I’ll exchange blood with you, little one,” Baron Vik’tor rumbled unexpectedly. “I can’t claim a pure blood line, but I’m willing to exchange.”
This put me on the spot and I looked up to see Sir staring down at me meaningfully. Clearly, I was going to have to do this or risk offending our host.
Deciding it was best to get things over with quickly, I reached over and stabbed my finger down on the spike in front of me before I let myself think about it.
“Ouch!” I muttered as a droplet of pure crimson welled up from my wounded finger. I quickly squeezed it into the tiny goblet in front of me and passed it to the Baron, who passed me another goblet with a droplet of his bluish-purple blood.
This was another thing I didn’t want to think about, lest I lose my nerve. Quickly, I upended the tiny crystal glass and let the drop of the Baron’s blood fall on my tongue. It had a salty, sweetish, slightly bitter taste that reminded me of blood oranges. I swallowed quickly, pretending it was just blood orange juice rather than actual blood on my tongue.
But when I looked up at Baron Vik’tor, he was still holding the tiny crystal goblet containing the drop of my blood.
“Fucking extraordinary,” he muttered, holding it up to the light from the fire which blazed behind him and examining it. “Red blood!”
“Um…yes, we humans have iron in our blood,” I explained awkwardly. “That’s what makes it red—I think, anyway.” It had been a long time since I took Biology class.
Baron Vik’tor lifted the tiny goblet to his lips and sipped experimentally, as though he was tasting a new vintage he wasn’t quite sure about. When my blood hit his tongue, his eyes widened in apparent surprise.
“Delicious!” he exclaimed. “It’s warm.”
“Er, thank you, I guess,” I mumbled. I wasn’t used to being complimented on the flavor of my blood.
“Little one’s species are unable to regulate their body temperatures,” Sir explained. “That might account for the warmth—she cannot lower her temperature enough to be comfortable in your chilly climate.”
“So she’s a warm-blood—no fucking wonder.” The Baron nodded thoughtfully. “Actually, I like things warmer myself, as you can see.” And he nodded at the fire which was blazing behind him. “Hope it doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable,” he added. “Since some of you are used to much colder temperatures.”
I saw Dru’silla move impatiently and give the fireplace a scathing look but Azz’lx, her husband said quickly,
“Oh, no—of course not, Vik’tor! We’re perfectly comfortable.”
“It feels good to me,” I said, though to be honest, I was starting to get a little bit warm. I wondered if it would be considered terribly rude to remove any more of the furry layers Sir had made me wear. It was hard to know what to do or not to do to keep from offending.
“I’m glad you’re all comfortable,” the Baron said. “Because I have a treat planned for tonight—a real, old-fashioned, traditional Naggian feast, just like our ancestors used to eat before we became a space-faring people.”
“That sounds delicious,” Sir said politely and I nodded eagerly, thinking of the little multicolored pies and the bacon on a stick that I had seen in the lobby downstairs, not to mention the steaming drink that had smelled like a cross between coffee and hot chocolate.
Baron Vik’tor clapped his hands and at once two servants in dark uniforms came in. They were rolling a cart with an enormous orange fish on it—in fact, it looked like a giant goldfish. After a moment, I realized that the fish was frozen stiff—it was obvious by the way its head and tail stuck out from the sides of the cart instead of flopping over.
The two servants reached the table side and one of them pulled on special gloves. He lifted the fish by its tail and held it lengthwise for the other servant, who had already produced a long silver blade which appeared to have two handles.
Gripping the handles, the second servant stepped up to the fish and, starting just under the tail, began scraping the knife straight down its side. This produced long, frozen curls of white fish flesh which landed in elegant disarray on the cart.
After the servants had produced enough for everyone at the table, the first one put down the fish and the second took off his gloves, picked up a pair of silver tongs, and began putting fish curls on everyone’s plate. The second servant followed behind, giving everyone a little crystal cup filled with some dark blue sauce.
I stared in dismay at the curly loop of raw, frozen fish in front of me. I like sushi as much as the next girl, but this was taking things too far, in my opinion. I looked around to see how everyone was eating the strange food and saw that both Azz’lx and Dru’silla, who were sitting directly across from me, had picked up pairs of what looked like golden chopsticks with little sporks on their ends. They were using these to pick up the frozen fish curls, dip them in the dark blue sauce, and bring them to their mouths.
The Baron was also eating heartily.
“I hope you enjoy the flux’en,” he remarked to Sir, who had also picked up his golden utensils and was biting into the frozen, raw fish. “It’s the food that used to sustain our ancestors all Winter long—which is a fucking long time around here.”
“So I understand,” Sir said politely, taking a bite of the fish.
I was a bit surprised to see him eating something besides nutritional gel cubes, but he didn’t act like it bothered him to try bizarre new alien foods, so I decided I ought to give it a try as well.
Picking up my golden spork-sticks, I held them between my fingers and thumb and used the tiny sporks on their ends to lift the fish curl to my nose.
I don’t like strong, fishy-smelling fish. Like salmon, for instance—I know it’s full of Omega 3s and it’s extremely good for you, but it just smells and tastes really strong to me and I can’t stand it. I was afraid the frozen fish curl would be the same.
But to my surprise, it didn’t smell of anything much at all. It didn’t taste like much either, when I took a nibble and then a bigger bite. It was kind of like chewing on a frozen fish stick without the breading, I concluded.
I tried dipping it in the blue sauce, but that was a mistake. The blue stuff tasted like a mixture of fish oil and licorice—not a good combination. Luckily, the servants were coming around the table and pouring us glasses of something to drink.
I watched with interest as the first servant put down a clear glass goblet rimmed in gold and then the second servant filled it, pouring from two different bottles at the same time like a bartender making a cocktail. One liquid that went into the goblet was a deep maroon that was almost black and the other was a cloudy white. The two liquids mixed in the glass, swirling and billowing like a chemical reaction taking place.
When the servants got to me and poured me a glass of the strange mixture, I was eager to try it—if for no other reason than to get the fish oil and licorice taste out of my mouth. But when I picked it up and took a sip, a flavor like sour milk and dirty salt filled my mouth.
I tried not to make a face but I must have done it anyway because when I put the glass down, I saw Baron Vik’tor watching me.
“Sl’urm’s an acquired taste. You like it?” he asked, smirking a little.
“Uh…it’s definitely different,” I said weakly. “I mean, I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. What are the two liquids you mix to make it?”
“Fermented com’ja mare’s milk and grun blood,” he answered promptly. “Takes a little getting used to but if you drink it enough, you’ll start to crave the fucking stuff.”
“Ah. I’ll take your word on that.” I nodded and tried to smile, thinking to myself that it was possibly the worst thing I’d ever had in my mouth.
The Baron laughed.
“Yeah, I can see it doesn’t agree with you. Don’t drink any more of it if you don’t like it.”
“It has a unique flavor,” Sir remarked, taking a drink of his own sl’urm and licking his lips thoughtfully.
“Yes, it fucking does,” the Baron agreed amiably. “Ah—here comes the next course! This was one of the first hot courses the Naggian people ever had—it dates back centuries,” he added as the two servants came in again.
Once more they had a cart with them. Sitting on it was some kind of hotplate or induction cook-top and placed on that was a broad, shallow pot that was almost more of a tub. Water was already bubbling away in the tub—at least I thought it was water—it was clear at least.
Then I saw a third servant pushing in a second cart. This one had a tall hook mounted on it that had lots of wrinkled, pale blue ropes hanging from it. There was also a pitcher of the same dark maroon liquid that had been poured into my cup earlier along with the fermented mare’s milk.
Uh-oh, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know what was going on here, but the Baron proceeded to explain.
“This is grun blood sausage,” he told Sir. “You clean the animal’s intestines and then pour just a little of the creature’s blood into them.”
As he spoke, the servants were doing exactly that, pouring the dark maroon liquid into the end of one of the shriveled ropes, which I now realized must be intestines.
“It doesn’t take much,” Baron Vik’tor continued. “Because it expands when you boil it. Watch.”
As he spoke, the servants twisted off the end of the pale blue intestine rope and cut it off from the rest. Then he tied the ends together to make a loop and tossed it into the pot of boiling water where it immediately began to expand until it was positively enormous. And when I say “enormous,” I mean that it started out the thickness of a Vienna sausage and ended up bigger than my arm.
This steaming monstrosity was delivered whole onto a platter and placed in front of Sir, as the plate containing his half-eaten fish curls was whisked away by another servant. Sir stared down at the thing in front of him without comment.
I hoped my own poker face was as good as his, because I was served next with only a slightly smaller portion than my Master had gotten. I stared down at it as the steam rose from the clammy pale blue surface of its intestine casing. It smelled awful—like sweaty gym socks dipped in the urinal at a dirty truck stop restroom. Did I have to try this, too?
I would have liked the answer to that question to be “no” but when I looked up, I saw that everyone was watching me and Sir. Clearly we were under scrutiny here. I was going to have to at least try the weird blood sausage.
Grimly, I picked up the knife which the servant had placed by my new plate and sawed at the loop of bloated intestine on my plate. But the pale blue skin was slippery and squirted away from me.
Luckily, I still had my spork-sticks. I picked them up with my left hand and clamped the grun blood sausage firmly in place. Then I grabbed the knife in my right and stabbed into the bloated, pale blue loop.
Finally my knife tip pierced the slippery skin but as it did, a great gout of half-cooked blood, still in liquid form, jetted out. It sprayed right across the table and splattered all over the white linen tablecloth and the front of Dru’silla’s dark blue dress.
The Naggian woman shrieked and jumped up from the table, her long, white hands dancing in the air like frantic doves.
“Oh my God!” I gasped, putting a hand to my mouth reflexively. “I am so, so sorry! That was an accident—I swear it!”
Dru’silla turned blazing blue eyes on me.
“Just look what you’ve done to my gown, you…you dirty little space urchin!” she snarled as her husband grabbed a napkin and tried frantically to blot her dry.
“I said I’m sorry,” I told her, frowning. No one had ever called me a “dirty little space urchin” before and I didn’t much like it. “Look, Sir has a thing called a Matter Synthesizer in his ship,” I went on. “I’m sure he can make you a gown exactly like the one I ruined. If you’ll just—”
But Dru’silla wasn’t listening to me—she was too busy spewing venom.
“Of all the clumsy, stupid, brainless things to do!” she raved.
“Do not speak that way about my pet,” Sir said, his face like a thundercloud. “Her actions were accidental, I assure you.”
“Her actions were idiotic!” Dru’silla spat back, glaring at me.
“Dru’silla, please!” her husband, Azz’lx pleaded, still dabbing frantically. “Please, just relax—I’ll buy you another gown! I’ll buy you a hundred gowns if you like.”
“Get away from me!” She shoved her husband in the chest, nearly knocking him off his chair. “I knew it was a mistake accepting this invitation to dine with off-worlders tonight! What will our social circle say if they find out we were fraternizing with such scum?” She pointed at me and narrowed her eyes. “You’re nothing but a hsh’frux—an off-worlder dirt-blood,” she hissed venomously.
“My father was a hsh’frux.” Baron Vik’tor’s voice was quiet but deadly cold. “He was Braxian, you know,” he growled.
“Oh, hey, Vik’tor…” Azz’lx face had gone even paler than the usual Naggian white. In fact, he looked nearly translucent and his forehead was sweating. “Dru’silla didn’t mean it,” he told the Baron. “You know she didn’t! She’s just upset because this is a new gown, that’s all.”
“Yes, I did!” Dru’silla snapped. “I meant every word of it—these people are off-worlder scum and I don’t know why we’ve been forced to keep company with them!”
Azz’lx looked up at his wife and glared at her. “Sit…down,” he hissed and then risked a glance at the Baron who had a stony look on his face. “If you value your life and mine, Dru’silla, shut up and sit down right now!”
I stared at the angry Naggian couple and then at Baron Vik’tor in surprise. I had thought that Azz’lx was just worried about losing his job, but now it sounded like he was afraid if his wife offended his boss, the Baron might have them both killed. Was Baron Vik’tor a successful businessman or a Mafia Don? Or maybe he was a little bit of both?
“I think maybe it’s time this dinner concluded,” Baron Vik’tor said abruptly. “It’s too fucking bad—I had raw, frozen y’mesh flesh on the menu, followed by t’mpkin bile soup, and some classic mixed-blood sorbet for dessert. But I think maybe we’ve all had about enough for now.”
He spoke calmly but his pale blue eyes blazed in his white face and I noticed his fangs were showing—they seemed very long and sharp.
“I’m sorry that little one’s mishap with the last dish ruined your social event,” Sir said to our host. “But I’d still like to speak with you, Baron. Maybe we could continue our conversation in another part of your building?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Baron Vik’tor took a deep breath like a man trying to calm himself and I thought that maybe his eyes blazed a little less brightly and his fangs didn’t look quite so long and sharp and scary afterwards.
“I’d like to be included, too, Baron,” Azz’lx said hesitantly, clearly trying to do damage control. “I’d like to get to know Sir Bart better. Maybe it would be a good idea for the males to go to your study for some of that delicious Braxian brandy you had imported the other day. Meanwhile the females can retire to the living area and get to know each other better.”
Dru’silla cast him an incredulous look and I could read on her face what she was thinking—she had no wish to spend one minute more with the off-worlder scum—aka, me—who had ruined her dress. But one furious, tight-lipped glare from her husband and she shut her mouth and looked sulkily away.
“I don’t know…” The Baron gave Dru’silla and me an appraising glance. “I’m not sure the two ladies would get along.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Sir gave me a measured look. “Won’t you, little one?”
“Of course, Master.” I nodded calmly—I had no intention of spending a single minute with that stuck-up bitch, Dru’silla. I was going to excuse myself straight to the bathroom and stay there the whole time he was with the Baron and Azz’lx. So it was no skin off my nose if we parted for a while.
“I—” Dru’silla began.
“Yes, my dear?” Azz’lx gave his wife another hard look and she pouted some more.
“Fine. Everything will be fine,” she muttered.
“Well then…” Azz’lx clapped his hands together. “That’s settled—right?” He looked at the Baron anxiously.
Baron Vik’tor paused for a moment, but nodded at last.
“All right. Gentlemen, please come with me,” he said to Sir and Azz’lx. And the servants will show the ladies into the living area where they can relax and sip liquors if they want.”
He stood up and so did Azz’lx.
Sir turned to me and murmured,
“Little one, are you certain you’ll be all right? Our talk is apt to take some time.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him firmly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to get into a cat fight.”
“See that you don’t.” Sir gave me a stern look and then—to my surprise—bent down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. “Be a good pet and I promise you’ll be rewarded when we get back to the ship,” he murmured.
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered back, feeling tingly all over as I considered what kind of “reward” he might have in mind. Maybe I had finally earned my first orgasm? I certainly hoped so! But only time would tell.
Sir rose and the Baron led him and Azz’lx out of the room. Meanwhile, the servant who had first met Sir and me at the door was bowing low before Dru’silla and asking if “my lady would care to take some sweet Vin’tien liquor in the living area.”
“Very well,” Dru’silla said frostily. Lifting her long, pointed nose in the air she swept from the room. It would have been a grand exit if the front of her gown hadn’t been all splotched with the grun blood, which smelled strongly of sweaty gym socks and dirty urinals.
The servant bowed to me next.
“Would you care to accompany Lady Dru’silla to the living area for some sweet liquor?” he asked.
“Actually, I’d really like to visit the necessary room,” I said, hoping he would understand what I meant. “I need to, er, answer the call of nature, if you know what I mean?”
The servant looked confused at first, but then his face cleared and he nodded understanding.
“Ah yes—of course. Please follow me.”
He led me out of the grand dining room and back down the long hallway until I was right by the area where Sir and I had hung our coats.
“Here you are, my lady,” he said formally, opening a door for me which led into a small room that appeared to have some kind of alien plumbing inside.
“Thank you,” I told him, entering the room. “Er…I might be a while so there’s no need for you to wait.”
“Quite all right,” the servant assured me. He gestured down the hallway. “When you finish attending to your, er, personal business, simply follow the hallway this way and make a right to find the living area. I shall have some liquor poured and ready for you.”
“Thank you.” I said, nodding and smiling. At least the servants had some manners around here, though it was clear Naggians in general didn’t care for outsiders.
The servant smiled and bowed and shut the door behind me.
I waited, my heart pounding as I listened to his muffled footfalls retreat down the long red carpet. Now that I was actually in the bathroom, a new plan was percolating in my head. It was a plan that was going to get me into a lot of trouble, but I didn’t know that then.
I just knew it seemed like a wonderful idea and I was aching to try it…