“Excuse me a minute,” I said, interrupting an editor. “Do you mind typing just a little quieter? It sounds like you’re trying to stab your way through the table.” Everyone turned to stare open-mouthed at Ally. She looked up. Smiled. And I suddenly couldn’t wait to see what she’d do next. “So sorry,” she offered sweetly. I was disappointed. Momentarily. As soon as the table returned to their debate whether peach or rose was a better background, Ally mashed her keyboard in an obnoxious crescendo.
