You’re fortunate.

Mabel reported that one of her students turned in a book report on Jane Austen’s novel, Emma. The freshman described the publication as, “one of Austen’s spermy works.”

It turns out that the student intended to use the word, “seminal,” but missed by a very wide margin, as sometimes happens when it comes to matters spermy.

I thought she was great, but not because she was young and attractive. After all, all professional tennis players are young and attractive. No, I liked her surname, which sounds like a variation on the word, “demented.”

What a great name! If I were of the competitive persuasion, I’d be reticent to compete with someone who was truly demented.

I suppose that’s why I like art; there’s no rivalry involved. At least there’s not if it’s done right.

Inspired, I photographed the spectacular spectacle. It was the first photograph I’ve ever made with a telephoto lens while sitting on a toilet seat. Probably the last, as well.

She put a tall glass on the table and pulled out a bottle of gin and a tray of ice cubes out of the freezer, and put more of the former than the latter in the tumbler. She added a splash of tonic water, then asked me if I was ready to learn her secret. I couldn’t say no, so I didn’t.

She pulled out a chopstick, then explained that the secret of a Japanese gin and tonic.

One chopstick gently stirring, hai! So inscrutable!

The macabre crime reminded me of a question Paul Merton once asked, a question that’s always fascinated me. The question is this:

“I’m always amazed to hear of air crash victims so badly mutilated that they have to be identified by their dental records. What I can’t understand is, if they don’t know who you are, how do they know who your dentist is?”

I’m so glad that my work rarely involves mutilated human bodies.