I was down in the basement, doing laundry. When I came back up, I found the phonebook on the kitchen table, opened to a giant ad for an escort service called “Erotic Playmates.” I haven’t confronted Linette about it yet… I suppose she could be checking to see if there’s a lucrative Pregnant and Chinese fetish market in suburban Detroit that we could cash in on… Or, maybe she’s arranging to have someone keep me company once the baby comes.

Actually, it was neither. I just asked her. She was looking under “Environmental Remediation.”

We’re apparently in the market for a lead-removal specialist, not an erotic playmate.

“Dear Penthouse, I never thought that something like this would happen to me, but my wife just arranged to have a team of middle-aged men come over to our house and sand our windowsills….”

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