originalsam_backup | Charitable Getting: Draft 2, Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The gingerbread house was a sight to behold.

It sat in the staff kitchen on Wednesday morning, on a platform perched on the slightly fragile and tippy snack sideboard. It had to be at least two feet tall -- three stories, in gingerbread -- and it was held together at every seam with a generous coating of royal icing, sculpted to look like snow and icicles. There were jujube shingles on the roof, and the eaves had red-licorice guttering. The yard around the gingerbread house was full of chocolate logs, gingerbread men, and little hatchets made out of fondant or possibly marzipan.

Marzipan, Erin discovered, as she popped one into her mouth. She picked up the little card next to it -- With our thanks and best wishes for the holiday season, from Shelter House.

Nice of Shelter House to send them such a nice treat, too, she decided, gently removing the door from the gingerbread house and snacking on it as she peered inside. It looked like there were gingerbread people inside, too.

She took one of the gingerbread men with her back to her desk and sat down to read her email. She was hoping there wouldn't be much; it was, after all, the end of December, and most of her email should be holiday wishes and away messages from people who had gone on vacation already.

***

From: Ian
To: All Staff
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:04
Subject: Gingerbread House

Good morning all!

The lovely gingerbread mansion in the kitchen is a gift from Shelter House, to celebrate our new partnership.

I've spoken with Sparks and he says we should all admire it and take pictures with it, and then tomorrow Naomi will take it down to the Jackson street soup kitchen so they can serve it up for Christmas dessert.

Tis the season!

IB.

--
Ian Butler
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Front Desk Administration
"Providing for those who provide for the providers"

***

Erin looked down at the torso of the gingerbread man in dismay.

When she looked back up, there was another email in her inbox.

***

From: John
To: Erin
CC: Anna, Ian
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:24
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

When Dad finds out, you are so dead.

--
John McGill
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Grant and Publicity Writer
Writers aren't exactly people. They're a whole lot of people, trying to be one person. -- F. Scott Fitzgerald

***

From: Erin
To: John
CC: Anna, Ian
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:25
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

The door broke off in my hand! It was an accident, I was just trying to see inside!

Erin

--
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Client Joy Manager

***

From: John
To: Ian, Anna, Erin
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:25
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

Jesus, did your mouth fall on the door? Are you okay?

--
John McGill
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Grant and Publicity Writer
Writers aren't exactly people. They're a whole lot of people, trying to be one person. -- F. Scott Fitzgerald

***

From: Ian
To: John, Anna, Erin
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:27
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

I notice you panicked and ate a marzipan axe, too.

IB.

--
Ian Butler
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Front Desk Administration
"Providing for those who provide for the providers"

***

From: Sarah
To: John, Anna, Erin, Ian
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:28
Subject: Plausible deniability

All four of you need to stop giggling before I'm legally bound to tell Sparks what I know.

That house was going to the poor!

Sarah

--
This email is covered by the Electronic Communications Privacy Act, 18 U.S.C. 2510-2521, and may be legally privileged. The contents of this email, all related responses and any files and/or attachments transmitted with it are CONFIDENTIAL and are intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed.

***

From: Erin
To: John, Anna, Sarah, Ian
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:29
Subject: re: Plausible deniability

They can still have it! I'll buy them a bag of cookies!

Erin
--
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Client Joy Manager

***

From: B. Sparks
To: All Staff
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:45
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

What happened to the door of our gingerbread house?

--
Bo Sparks
Executive Director, SparkVISION.nfp
"Providing for the Providers"

***

From: Ian
To: All Staff
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:46
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

I suspect we have mice. I've put in a call to the building engineers.

IB.

--
Ian Butler
SparkVISION.nfp: Providing for the Providers
Front Desk Administration
"Providing for those who provide for the providers"

***

Anna was still snickering at the Great Gingerbread House Caper when her phone rang mid-morning, and she answered "Creative!" without checking caller ID.

"Yes you are," purred a voice on the other end. Trent.

"Well, I try," she said. It was easy to flirt with Trent, perhaps easier than it strictly should be. But he could be charming, and she was pretty sure --

"I'm calling to see what you're doing for Christmas eve tomorrow," he said.

-- he was calling to see what she was doing for Christmas eve.

"Well, I'm meeting my parents for Christmas Day dinner, so I need to be home by nine in the morning to sleep off any hangovers," she said, and heard him laugh.

"I think we can do that," he replied. "Especially if you don't have to go home to sleep."

"I don't?" she asked.

"Nope. Come away with me Christmas Eve to the sixteenth floor."

Anna paused. "I work on the nineteenth floor."

"Not of the Trump Tower, you don't," he replied. "There's this little place called Sixteen that's doing a six-course tasting menu. How do you feel about Macadamia foam?"

"It sounds like a shampoo."

"It's delicious. You'll love it. We'll get wine sent up to the hotel room afterwards. Tower room, river view, 28th floor. Say yes."

"You're lucky I'm a loner and didn't have plans," she said. "Yes, I will."

"Great! You're not working on Christmas Eve, are you?" he asked.

"Half-day," Anna told him, batting John off as he tried to eavesdrop. "I need time to go home and primp."

"Pick you up at yours at eight?"

"Make it nine," she told him.

"I guess you couldn't get fancy at work just to show off who you're going out with?" Trent asked.

"What, the hot young thing taking me to Sixteen?"

"Oh baby, say it louder," Trent moaned, as John and Zoe both gave up any pretense of working to stare at her.

"Save it for the hotel room," she said, and hung up to his laughter. John was opening his mouth, probably to mock her, when there was an apocalyptic crash from the lobby. Anna flinched. Behind her, Zoe swore.

"You'd think Ian could send out a warning when Sparks is about to gong," Zoe said, dabbing at some tea she'd spilled down her front.

"I think he keeps quiet on purpose," John snarled, sopping up likewise-spilled coffee from his desk.

The gong rang again; up and down the hallways of SparkVISION, heads popped out of cubicles and office doors opened.

"Does it sound…sad, to you?" Zoe asked, as she shuffled some papers aside and stood up to join the others streaming into the lobby.

"Sad? It's a gong," Anna pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's...dolorous. Mournful," Zoe said, cocking her head. "Look at Sparks," she added in a whisper. Anna stopped on the threshold between hallway and lobby, watching. Sparks did look...wilted.

"Everyone in the conference room," he called, hanging up the gong and walking down the hallway, Cee and Ian trailing behind him. "Things to talk about!"

Anna, joining in the crowd following along after Sparks to the conference room, noticed Sarah and Naomi giving each other significant looks.

Picking a seat in the conference room was like picking a seat on the first day of class in high school -- sit too close and you were teacher's pet, sit too far away and you probably wouldn't hear what was going on. The best seats were still at the other end where you didn't have to crane your neck in order to face the boss and pretend you were listening to what was going on. Most people looked like they were prepping for a surprise PowerPoint; Anna picked a seat in the middle, between John (back of the classroom) and Sarah (teacher's pet).

"Hey, hi, good morning," Sparks said, gesturing with his hands to try and settle everyone into silence. "Thanks for being here on time this morning. I hate to ruin your holiday..."

The tension in the room spiked. Next to her, she heard Sarah's pencil crack in her hand.

"...but we need to talk, as a company, about Union Arms," Sparks finished.

A few heads turned to Anna. She tried to keep her focus on Sparks.

"I know we all saw or heard about Mr. Byron's...spirited debate with Erin last week," he said. "At the heart of the matter is the fact that we can't, in good conscience, tell him that Union Arms should rebrand itself. Mr. Byron feels this is a fraudulent statement, and apparently the board of directors of the organization agrees with him."

Anna felt a pit open up in her stomach. More eyes were on her now; Sparks, never subtle, whistled and gestured at his face to bring attention back to him.

"We've been served with a lawsuit," he said bluntly.

"This is such a pile of bullshit," Sarah announced. Sparks held up a hand.

"Union Arms has notified us that they intend to make a press release on January second, alleging that SparkVISION engages in false business practices and deceives its clients," Sparks said. Anna, over the clanging of rage and hurt in her ears, heard Erin whistle low. "We have until the second to offer them a full re-branding strategy, or answer in court for the amount paid plus damages."

"Wow. Way to ruin Christmas, Scrooge McDuck," Vicky muttered, then looked guiltily at Anna.

"Ten days over two holidays to build a full rebranding strategy?" Erin asked. "Does he want us to give him a crap re-branding?"

"Let's keep this about Union Arms," Sparks said. "This isn't about individuals with the group anymore. This is about their entire Board of Directors trying to screw us out of our fee."

"I could do a new logo," Zoe offered. "I can't promise I'd put much heart or soul into it, though."

"Nope," Sparks said. "I'm not going to let SparkVISION be their sketchy excuse for declining donations. We can't afford to risk our good name that way. It's worth more than a fee."

"Are you sure?" Erin asked quietly. Almost everyone was watching her now, or Sparks for his reaction.

"True character is defined by how we act when...when things suck," he said. Anna absently deducted points for a good opening but a bad finish. "I stand by our recommendation, and that proves our integrity. People will see that."

"Then what is there to discuss?" Sarah asked. "Are we going to the mats? Because if so I have phone calls to make."

"Yeah. Go," Sparks said, jerking his head at the door. Sarah hurried out. "The rest of you know the drill. If anyone outside the company asks about this, we have no comment. If Union Arms contacts anyone here about the lawsuit, you send them to Sarah or to me. Now, if you're not sure about this, because it's the company on the line, you're welcome to resign. You'll get a good severance package."

Silence.

"Your vote of faith is noted," he said, smiling. "Okay. That's all. Do not let this bug you over the holidays. That's why we pay me more than you. Go do good work," he said, and gestured to the door.

The others left slowly, Ian lingering behind and looking guilty; Anna caught his arm and tugged him into the hallway.

"Smoke?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as desperate as she felt.

"Well, I'll enjoy watching you smoke yours," he told her, as they walked back to the lobby. "Cee, can you keep an eye on the desk for me?"

"I have a feeling today is not the day the important phone calls come through," Cee said. "I'll cover you."

They rode down in silence, and when they reached the little sheltered smoking porch Anna offered him a cigarette. He waved it off.

"That was unpleasant," he observed, leaning against the wall. "Are you okay?"

"Can I ask you something?" she said, blowing smoke through her nostrils.

"Yeah, sure," he replied warily.

"How do you make Macadamia foam?"

Ian raised his eyebrows. She realized, distractedly, that it was probably not what he was expecting.

"You blend Macadamia nuts with water, salt, and soy lecithin," he said. "Then you strain it, re-blend it, and scoop the foam off the top. It sounds kind of scummy to me, but that's molecular gastronomy for you. It's supposed to be good."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I read blogs," he replied, watching people pass on the sidewalk. "Why do you want to know?"

"Trent asked me out for Christmas eve. It's on the menu."

"Sixteen?" Ian asked. Anna peered at him. "What? Sarah read me a review."

"How did she know? Even I didn't know before this morning."

"Magic," Ian replied, taking the cigarette out of Anna's mouth and taking a drag.

"You better not have swine flu," she said, taking it back. "So yeah. Is this what they call sleeping with the enemy?"

"I don't know," he said. "Sparks had a point. Trent Byron's just one guy. One very persuasive guy, but Union Arms is suing us, not him. We don't know if they think this is the smart thing to do, or if he convinced them it was, or maybe he blackmailed them into it. That'd be the most fun, I think."

"Fun?" Anna demanded.

"Well, from a scandal point of view. I mean, what do you want me to say? I'm not going to tell you not to sleep with him, though I think it might not be good for your sanity."

Anna tapped ash off the end of the cigarette. "I feel like a traitor."

"Hey, I'm not the advice guy, I have a history of semi-poor life choices. Here's a question, though," Ian said, leaning forward. "Do you like him?"

Anna sighed. "You know what? He's a dick. But -- and this isn't something I like to admit -- I've dated guys who were worse. These things happen, it's not me versus him, it's SparkVISION versus Union Arms."

"Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with him?"

Anna shrugged. "I said yes before Sparks brought up the lawsuit." She was silent for a while. "Yeah, you know what, of the two choices, I don't want to back out. Six course tasting menu, Ian. I can tell you what Macadamia foam is like. And he's not hideous or anything."

"And?" Ian prompted. Anna shot him a sharp look.

"And...maybe I can find out what's going on. Find out why the whole board of directors is after us."

Ian grinned. "Go ye forth, Mata Hari. I'd rather not see us get raked around in public. The media'll have a field day with it."

"Can you imagine what Non Prophet would say?" Ann asked, stubbing out her cigarette. She turned to go inside, but Ian stayed where he was, looking thoughtful. "What? Come on, I'm freezing."

"Here's a question back at you," he said. "What do you think of Weekly City?"

"Good crossword, too many ads. Why?"

"I think that reporter from Weekly City is still poking around trying to bust Non Prophet. I think she thinks he's someone at SparkVISION."

"So?"

"So, what if she's right?"

"Then we'll probably get to hear what he thinks a lot sooner than January second," Anna sighed.

"No, I mean, how do we react to that?"

"If it's the boss, we keep our mouths shut," Anna told him.

"But what if it's one of us?"

Anna considered the snow gently falling outside of the little roofed-over portico. "I don't know."

"If you didn't cut them off, if you stayed friends with him or her. Is that rewarding a liar, do you suppose?"

"You never struck me as much of a moralist," Anna told him.

"Yeah, well. I'm not much on thinking in the moment," Ian replied. "I sort of want to be prepared if Roxy does find out who he is. Or she."

"You don't think I'm Non Prophet, do you?" she asked.

"Are you?"

"Jesus, no."

"Are you lying?" Ian asked, and Anna opened her mouth to shout at him, then saw the slight curve of his lips.

"You are not as funny as you think you are," she said instead, and Ian laughed, following her inside.

***

Date: 12/24/09
Subject: Two For Non

Well, readers, Christmas is near. The presents are wrapped, people are gathering together, and lights are getting lit (along with some coworkers). To those of you who don't celebrate Christmas, I extend my sympathies and would like to express my appreciation for your tolerance in these trying times.

I'm taking a holiday and signing off shortly; I won't be at my "real" job, or working on NonProphetBlog, until next Monday. I might be posting photos of Christmas dinner, but that's all.

Before I do that, however, I want to say a few words about giving.

This is a terrible time of year. It's dark and cold and for a season when we're supposed to be full of joy there's an awful lot of pressure on all of us. For those without family or much money or a job or hope, this is the worst time to be told you should have and appreciate those things. I am grateful every day for my job, my work family, my blood kin, my friends -- so many things. But I remember that not everyone has them.

If you have given this season, or are planning to give, I'm pleased and proud for you. If you're not giving, I can only assume that you need the money, and I wish you the best possible luck for the new year.

That said, I have a proposition to make, and I'm calling it Two For Non (this is a pun, or play on words).

Whatever you're giving -- thousands, hundreds, five bucks, nothing -- if you read this blog I want to ask you to add two dollars to it. Two dollars isn't much; it's less than a cup of coffee or a sandwich downtown. It's less than a gallon of gas. It's less than a tenth of what most of you are paying for the internet access to read this right now.

Two dollars is something nearly anyone can do, if they give at all.

Two dollars, in the hands of a charitable organization, can buy several cans of food. It can buy vaccinations for children here or abroad, and subsidize medication for the elderly. It can buy a box of pencils for a kid who hasn't got any. It's one fifth of a warm hat, or a gallon of coffee for tired volunteers.

In the hands of an ordinary person, two dollars is a quarter pound of lunch meat, or almost a pound of ground beef. It's a bottle of clean water. It's two apples, four bananas, six potatoes. It's a tin of cooking fuel or a blanket from a thrift shop.

You don't have to give much. People think they have to give ten bucks, fifty bucks, whatever, to make a difference. I get seventy thousand unique hits on this blog a day, sometimes more. If everyone who reads this gives a one-time donation of two dollars, that's a hundred and forty thousand dollars.

I'm offering you a chance to give a hundred and forty thousand dollars to help someone out, and all it's going to cost you is two bucks.

Give to your favorite charity. Check the sidebar on this blog for links to secular, hardworking organizations you can give to if you haven't got a favorite already. Give two bucks to the guy you see on the street every day. Drop it in a donation box. Hand it to a volunteer.

Be warm, be safe, be good, and if you can't be good, be clever.

I'll see you on Monday.

Post A Comment / 299 Comments Posted

***

John shut down his computer around noon on Christmas Eve, just as Cee called out to Sparks that she was leaving for the holiday. He hurried to pull his coat on so that he could "accidentally" run into her on the way out the door. She was wrangling a largish wheeled suitcase out from behind her desk when he reached the lobby.

"Going home for Christmas?" he asked her, as she finally got a handle on the bag. He tightened the strap on his unusually-well-stuffed courier bag.

"Out of town, actually," she replied with a smile. "You?"

"Family," he said. There was a snort from the general direction of Ian's desk.

"Well," she remarked, as he held the door for her, "that'll be nice."

He pushed the elevator button. "I think so."

They rode down in the elevator in silence, and it wasn't until they reached the garage where he'd parked his car that they burst out into laughter.

"That was so awkward," she said. "How did you fit all your stuff into that little bag?"

"Check the back seat," he told her, and she laughed again when she saw the trio of bags covering the seats.

"Where's mine supposed to go?" she demanded. "You said to pack snow clothes."

"Trunk!" he popped it and helped her get it over the ledge of the bumper, on top of the spare tire and a pile of snow chains.

"Remind me again where in the back of beyond you live?" Cee said, as she climbed into the passenger's seat.

"I don't live there, my parents live there," John said. "And my brothers and sister and her husband and everyone. It's only four hours outside Chicago."

"Couldn't afford a plane ticket any further away than that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. John scowled.

"I like my family," he told her. "We get along great."

"Yeah, when you're across the state from them. What's the city called again?"

"Galena," John sighed. "Population three thousand. You'll like it, it's a tourist town, people go there to relax."

"I'm sure I'll love it," she said with a smile. "So we'll be there in time for dinner? Are we eating with your parents?"

"My mother is making an old immigrant German recipe," John said.

"What's that?"

"Beer brats and seven-layer-dip," he said. Cee stared at him, openmouthed, until he glanced at her and couldn't help cracking a smile. "And my parents say I get the guest room, which has a double bed, because that's 'roomier'."

"Oh luxury!" Cee said. "Do we have to sleep with one foot each on the floor?"

"Might be unavoidable, a double's not very big."

"I'm sure we can cuddle for warmth," Cee suggested, and rubbed the fine hair at the back of his head. "Should I be nervous about meeting your parents?"

"You should be terrified. They're like gibbons. They fling poo when they're angry."

"John!"

"They'll love you," he said, still smiling. "Promise."

He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror, at his laptop bag. If everything went well, they'd have a few secrets to tell the staff at work, when they got back.

"I worry about Sparks," Cee said, as he pulled out of the garage.

"Sparks has a very short attention span for things that make him unhappy. He'll be fine."

"Okay," Cee sighed, "I worry about the company."

"He told us not to. Come on, just for the holiday, no worrying. We'll have beautiful scenery, nice people to be with, and a whole double bed all to ourselves," John told her. Cee laughed.

"I'll try," she promised, and kissed him, which almost made him run up onto the curb.

Chapter Thirteen

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Did you add more sleazy detail to Trent asking Anna out for Christmas Eve? I'm just finding it much more sleazy this time around.

I too, am finding it much sleazier. I think the phone conversation has been ever so slightly tweaked, and thus Trent reads as way sleazier.

There's more telling and less asking, and way more innuendo *nods* I totally sleazed him up :D

Trent is coming off as way more of a jackhole this time around.

Good! I was totally going for that :D

My grandma grew up in Galena, it is a wonderful small town.

This is like reading American Gods, I know everywhere they are. :)

Fun! I've never been to Galena but now I kinda want to go.

I think the gong got gongier between the previous draft and this one.

I want a legal secretary who will respond to "We've been served with a lawsuit" with "This is such a pile of bullshit"!

"How do you know that?"...
"I read blogs."
Bwahahaha.

I love the Two-for-Non post and its concept. (I know that's not new, but I still love it and I love it again.)

I also love John almost hitting the curb.

~ c.

/sings: "Have I Told . . . You Lately . . . That I LOVE YOU?!?!?"

No superlative is good enough. In my humble joy, I wish I could give you sparkly things and several times $2, and really frou-frou expensive teas and superballs and, I don't know, a nuclear submarine? Would you like one? I hear Columbia has one (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/915059.stm), and I don't think you get more circumspect and on-the-down-low than that.

I wish I could buy you for Christmas and give you to everyone I know. If this is in a book format by Yule, I will. :)

Awww, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'll pass on the submarine, but any spare superballs feel free to bounce my way :D

Do you have a P.O. box for fanmail yet? I know it's not a foregone conclusion that you will ever get one, but considering the cafe, it would be interesting to see what kind of weirdness the cafe sends you.

I guess that does pose some logistical problems for you, though, doesn't it. Unless you had a post office a block away, it would be pretty inconvenient having to clear out all the physical mail, and any leftover pack-rat tendencies might tempt you to keep things you didn't have room for. :T Hrm.

From: Ian
To: All Staff
Date: Wednesday 12/23/09 08:46
Subject: re: Gingerbread House

I suspect we have mice. I've put in a call to the building engineers.

I just spotted this. As someone who has had a mouse problem, I can say that if that really WERE the problem, that gingerbread house and all the food in the offices would be trashed for the health and safety of the staff, not to mention the cleaning crew. Stuff in the refrigerator is probably safe so long as it was properly sealed.

That said, it's a good line and I like it but wonder if you could add a comment to show that Sparks recognizes a diplomatic fib when he sees one. Like, he could reply, "Ah, mice." Or "Right, that must be it." Or Ian could reply, "We have been talking about getting that snack board fixed for a while," which answers nothing and yet takes all attention off the door being missing.

Or leave it as is, because it's a really good line. I just have nightmare memories of cleaning up my pantry a few years ago. (For the record, my entire neighborhood has a mouse -- NOT rat -- problem due to a nearby railroad cut through.)

I think, honestly, above the admin level nobody really thinks about the ramifications of mice :D Good point though.

1. Aww, Erin, still guilty? Sad.
2. "Cee snickered as Zeke looked up sharply. "You didn't tell me there would be ridiculously hot women here."
"I'm pretty sure your chances aren't good," Ian told him." Hahahaha!
3. What is a cube of microbrew?
4. Is Erin really that oblivious? That's cute.
5. Ooher, Ian is out of the room for the Non ping! Gotcha!
6. Team Jacob, really? :P
7. Bocephus?!
8. Messenger on Christmas party? Talk about a mood shifter. Is that new? I think that's new.
9. Ohhhh, Sparks. Thanks, Sparks, for being awesome and saving the night for your staff.
10. I really really like seeing this glimpse of how Sarah is a Mistress of the Black Arts, as well as a better set up for what's happening with Union Arms.
11. Long chapter. And the two email chains - this one and Hot Shrinkage - are two of my favorite moments.
12. The conference room meeting had me sad, so well done, I think.
13. Also, if it's snowing, do Anna and Ian want coats or jackets?

A "cube" is a 24-pack of beer, so called because it's square rather than oblong. I keep wondering if I should take that out, apparently it's kind of an obscure term. :D

Bocephus is a GREAT name. I love saying it. (It has no meaning; it's a made-up word and apparently comes from the deep south, though it might be a corruption of Bucephalus, which was Alexander the Great's horse).

The messenger right after the party is new, yeah -- I think it spikes the tension some. :)

"Good. It should. You shouldn't live somewhere you don't love," he told her. "Not unless you're planning to turn it into something you can love. When I got to Chicago I was horrified by some of what I saw, but I decided that instead of getting used to it I was going to try to fix it."

"Seems to be working okay," Vicky said.

"Yeah. I guess I like fixing things. So, you know, bad things still happen, but I'm trying to fix them, and that means I get to love it," Bo said.

Bwahahahaha, not that it was on this principle that I ended up running two nonprofits simultaneously or anything.... *facepalms*

Charitable Getting: Draft 2, Chapter 12

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