“I’m not responsible for your experience of my work.”
That’s what I said to my father last weekend. When I stormed (YES! Hurricane Joanne RETURNS) out of the house.
I’m not usually quite so explosive. But I think the Real Housewives are beginning to rub off on me. Soon I’ll be getting Botox injections in my living room.
What’s that you say? I don’t have a living room?
Minor detail.





