Hurricane Libby

Shameful. My absence around here has been shameful. I'm aware that it's shameful and I feel terrible about it, although, apparently, not quite badly enough to haul my fat ass out of the pool to offer written explanation. So let me just say this in my defense - I was tired after being away from home for so long and it was hot and sunny for the first time in about nine months. The end. The good news is I'm tanned roughly the color of a baked potato. I've actually been very conscientious about using sunscreen, which is why I'm not tanned into the hue of a steak or a Hershey bar. (What I'm saying is my tan is all kinds of delicious.) I blame Henrietta Lacks because if I hadn't picked up the book about her, I might have done something in a week other than wallow and read. Anyway, today we need to discuss Libby. I got home from tour the first week and I couldn't help but notice that Libby had... changed. When I left, she had a whippet-slim little waist and elegantly muscled legs. She was light and lithe and quick as the devil. But when I got home, it appeared as though someone had stuffed fifty-five pounds of pit bull into a forty-five pound package. She bulged like an over-stuffed kielbasa. When she'd sit, her backside arranged itself into multiple velvety folds of flab sticking out over her haunches. Fletch tried to explain this away...