Issue 197 — April 18, 2022

I got so many flowers on my big 8–0 April 13 that I jokingly asked whether I had died. I’m incredibly fortunate to be alive and high kicking as I veer into Betty White territory. I’m looking forward to people thinking everything I do that makes any sense at all is adorable. You know, like they do with preschoolers who use three-syllable words.

Read More