For the first time in my adult life, I’ve hired a maid. Maids, actually. With two guys, four dogs, one or two cats (depending on the week), hundreds of fleas, and a couple of awfully clever mice living under one roof, I figured it was time.
Before the maids arrive, though, I have to do a little, uh, straightening. You see, given the boyfriend’s gig, there’s a sizeable chunk of porn swag lying about. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give a damn who came across it, but in New Orleans these days, finding maid service is no small task (I had to schedule these gals a month ago), so I don’t want Wanda or Fabrice or Yolanda to come traipsing in with all their dustmops and stuff, only to run out screaming before they’ve even begun because they stumbled across Schoolteacher Sex Slave Vol. 4 lying in the bathroom sink.
But before I don my hernia belt and begin this arduous task–and if you’ve been to our house, you know I’m not kidding–let me just say one thing off-topic:
Ken Foster is many things–writer, teacher, pet-lover, friend–but above all, he’s a magnificent storyteller. Don’t trust me? Read an excerpt. I finished the book in 24 hours, and given the fact that it took me nearly a week to plow through Dan Brown’s sixth-grade-level prose, I think that’s saying something….
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