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“What size would you like? Our We Are Vivacious comes in Moon, Supernova, and Galaxy sizes.” This seemed to be Frederick’s limit. “I recognize each of the words you just said as belonging to the English language,” he said, looking dazed. “When taken all together, however, none of what you just said makes any sense whatsoever.”
“Frederick?” He whirled around at the sound of my voice, a wooden spoon with something dripping from it clutched in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other. He wore a black apron over his clothes with the words This Guy Rubs His Own Meat in large white Comic Sans lettering. I huffed an involuntary laugh, momentarily forgetting what I’d been about to ask him. “What are you wearing?” He looked down at himself, then back at me. “It’s an apron.”