“Yeah, but I’m not the future queen, now, am I?” Sputtering water on the table, she sets her glass down and starts coughing. I give her a few moments. When she wipes her face with a napkin, she asks, “Can you refrain from putting it like that? My ass just clenched, and I’m not sure it will unclench for hours. Do you understand how uncomfortable that’s going to be? Especially on this chair, which I can only assume was too hard for Goldilocks.”
