...I mean Susan...call me SusanShe put the letter down and hopped out of bed, not bothering to get dressed. A look in the mirror said it all. Her hair...was a mess and her face was groggy. She casually walked to the kitchen to see Susan cooking a meal. Susan was barefoot and braless, wearing a thin white tank top and gray sweatpants. "That smells amazing." It's a specialty of mine," Susan smiled. "Do you always walk around naked in the morning?" Well, your letter implied that getting dressed was. Every soaring caterwaul would make my skin crawl and the dead, thump of the fat kid at the back with the bass drum, usually added to the general funereal dreadfulness of the evenings. I would trot out the requisite praise to the general populace, but I couldn't help wondering if they were all being as tactful as I was (i.e. lying through their gritted teeth.) So it was that I had already begun to cast about in dread for a some sort of excuse to leave the audience even before the children. More

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