Yep, she is. She has been drawn to the siren call of grandbabies, which is far more potent than any lure this old poopyhead could possibly put out, so in a few weeks she’s taking off to San Antonio to hang out with Knut. For THREE WEEKS. I might descend into total madness in that much time. She might return to discover I’ve turned the house into a haven for spiders to escape the chilly onset of winter, and that I’m releasing swarms of fruit flies to feed them while I gibber and caper within the silk-shrouded walls of our once lovely home. It’ll be all her fault.
What really annoys me, though, is that she’ll be away over Halloween, and will get to take Knut out trick-or-treating for the first time. That’s my job. Meanwhile, the kiddies will be fleeing in terror from our house in Morris, except for the ones that get snared and wrapped and drained.
I don’t think my students will let me cancel class for three weeks so I can tag along.