"Scott," Miss Krystal observed, "you've said nothing." Ma'am, I have nothing constructive to add," I replied. It was a lie—I had said things like pa...s the bread—but I had not contributed to the conversation. "I lack the education, the experience. What can I add?" Say something," Miss Krystal commanded. "Stupid, profane, profound, just say something." We had this discussion before, Miss Krystal," I objected. "That was three months ago. I'm still learning." So what have you learned?" Miss Krystal. He'd stifled a smirk when I'd accepted the invitation, and I wondered what dastardly deed they had in mind for me.I ran over the encounter in my mind, trying to spot the trick. At about the same time that I remembered what 'Celebration and Presentation' actually referred to, I got a new-message ping from my anonymous net-presence account. Someone who knew my 'handle' had sent me a message, probably trying to get information to me without tipping off anyone who was running a traffic analysis on. When I returned to the kitchen, what I saw was very interesting. Ben was unwrapping a Little Debbie oatmeal cookie and Ron was trying to clean Emma up. There was cheese and grease everywhere.Laura was watching my husband. There was a look on her face that was instantly recognizable. The naked appreciation of a female for a male.Exactly what I wanted to see. In the last year or so, I'd seen that look in her eyes more than once and each time for my husband.She didn't know I was there yet so while. It wasn’t until he noticed a growing red spot on the shortstop’s uniform that he called a quick timeout and motioned for the coaches to join him on the diamond. “Help...we need first aid here...quickly!”Bruce was the first to arrive, followed by the Rangers’ coach. “What the hell kind of slide was that?” Bruce shouted, very much in the other man’s face.The coach at the receiving end of the tongue-lashing had little he could say, other than ‘sorry’. The slide had been dangerous, but whether.
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