It was the Pottery Barn fall issue, Lois. The pumpkins were wrinkled. You don’t come back from that.
He was joking.
It was a Tuesday. The rain tapped on the window like a cop who forgot his warrant. She walks in — legs up to her alibi — and says, “You the flathead expert?”
Peter, can you help me fold these towels instead of watching whatever that is?
Jokes are for people who haven’t been emotionally grandfathered into a vendetta.
(Back to the Clam. Peter has calmed down.)
I don’t even drink oat milk.
