The X-Project

If anyone is investigating this, er, rampage of rhyme, it's affecting more than the mansion now. Tamika, my office manager (and scheduler, babysitter, all around Wonder Woman), was looking tired this morning. I made the mistake of commenting, and asking if she'd gotten any sleep last night.

I was treated to five minute ode to her husband's virility, flexibility, and creativity regarding whipped cream and pralines. As her husband is also Dante, the art therapist in our practice, this is not information I wanted to know. Ever.

I am now answering the phones at the clinic today, and Tamika is filing. This is the first break I've had as the phones are ringing off the hook--some with our clients calling to report 'sightings' of verse in the community.

Please tell me someone has discovered the cause of this pandemic of poetry. And the solution.