“If I could comport myself with half the dignity my father showed as he was dying, I’d be happy,” I told Sekhnet, meaning to note it here to include in the Book of Irv.
“When are you going to start?” she asked me innocently.
“In the hours leading up to my death, I mean,” I told her, innocently.
“And not a moment before,” she said gleefully, bursting into a cackle as I struggled to find something to rattle, to indicate that she was mean as a snake.
She continued to laugh as I searched fruitlessly for a rattle.