Papered

Me: “Hey… Whats the deal with the writing all down the inside of your leg? That looks like a whole paragraph.”

Danger Monkey, age 10: “It’s the rules for the new role playing game I’m creating.”

Me: “OK, that sounds cool, but why write on your leg?”

DM: “I ran out of room on my arms.” (pulls up sleeves)

Me: “Good god, son. That’s a lot of ink. Why are you writing all over your skin?”

DM: (puzzled look)

DM: “It’s the only paper that’s always with me.”

(long pause)

Me: “Can’t argue with that. Carry on.”

I’d Read That

Last night I dreamed I was writing a book about myself writing a book about a transgender alien named Zaah who was a sheriff in a small Midwestern town who fought her own body image issues plus the townspeople’s sexism and transgender prejudices all while solving mysteries by using her alien powers to turn people into what they feared so they could see things from the other perspective.

In related news, that’s the last time I’ll eat really spicy food right before bed.