“Dude,” I said, leaning over the desk, “I’m about as psychic as a carrot.”

“Glitch was about as wild and unpredictable as a carrot stick.”

“I stood and walked around the desk so I could stand over him. Menacingly. Like Darth Vader, only with better lung capacity.”

“I gotta tell you, Davidson, I’m impressed,” he said. “That took balls.” “Please,” I said with a snort, “that took ovaries. Of which I have two.” “Have I mentioned that I’m a licensed gynecologist? If your ovaries ever need anything…”

“After a long, labored sigh, I said, “She was really happy when I got there. I’m pretty sure she was suicidal when I left.”“You do have that effect on people.”

“Are you using that handbag that has the word fuck written all over it again? I warned you about taking that out in public.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you," Cookie said. "Amber wants your dad to get a teriyaki machine so she can sing for all the lonely barflies." "I'm a good singer, mom." Only a twelve-year-old could make the word mom sound blasphemous. I leaned into Cookie, "Does she know its not called--?" "No," she whispered. "Are you gonna tell her?" "No. It's much funnier this way.”