I hate St. Patrick’s Day. Those damned, drinking Irish – have to have a holiday all to themselves, and we don’t even live in Ireland. We live in Pittsburgh. I mean, really … do the Polish, French, Italians, or Greeks have a special holiday where they were some stupid color no one likes? Who wants to wear a lime green shirt when they don’t have to?
“Ned,” Mrs. Naughton said, “you’re a million miles away. Get back to work. The book isn’t going to publish itself.”
And I hate Mrs. Naughton. She’s just so, so, so superior. So what if I day-dream a little bit now and then? My stupid job as an editor doesn’t take all my time, you know. She can just take her post-menopausal sneer and go jump in a –
“And get that stupid expression off your face. I’m not going to jump in a lake.”
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