I was on the MAX train with some people who had reproduced themselves. There is no getting around the fact that theirs was a very ugly baby, who screamed the whole journey long. I tried quite hard to think of something friendly to say, but I haven't developed my mother's ability with strangers and babies. The best I could think of was, "She'll be a singer some day." The parents looked at me, broke into weird-toothed grins, "We've been trying to get her into modeling. There's money in that!"
The same age as J.K.R., I can tell you what "taking umbrage" means. I bet I could pay for a week in a Dundee b and b on the basis of "The Unofficial Guide, with sundry facts the author and I both know about Britain in that era," but I went crabbing instead of reading vols one through Hallows. Caught seventeen Dungeness. Big ones, too. Ain't nay-chah wizard?
David Ritchie, eating garlic kettle corn from the North Plains Garlic Festival near Portland, Oregon
