I’m in your house. I should be in your living room charming the shorts off your father—the man put on swim trunks to show his disrespect for me—and I should be popping Fireball nips with your sister—they’re her “candy”—and I should be playing Candy Land with your niece—she took a shine to me right away—but instead, I’m in your guest bathroom for the second time in the last ten minutes because Sarah Beth Swallows will not.
