Frisbee isn't supposed to be a full-contact sport. There is supposed to be fifteen to twenty feet of space between you and the person you're throwing it to, more depending on whether or not you're playing with a quarterback. Julienne and I tossed the Frisbee back and forth for a while, usually resulting in us having to chase the damn thing through half of the park. I don't think we actually caught it more than once each. A little girl half Julienne's size wanted to play, so we let her, and her father joined halfway through the game. He had the kind of arm any NFL coach would've died to have on his team, which we found out pretty quick. I think it was somewhere between the second and third time he threw the Frisbee. Of course, he struck me as the type of dad that was a little irked that he'd gotten a daughter instead of a son, because he kept telling his little girl, Mandy, what she was doing wrong. Within five minutes, I wanted to hit him for all of his, 'Mandy, you're not throwing it right's and 'Mandy, put a little effort into it's. I mean, she was only five, for God's sake. He got irritated and threw the Frisbee a little too hard, and I could only watch as Julienne attempted to catch it, ending with her sprawled on the ground. Her head made a sickening cracking sound as it hit the grass and my heart lurched, propelling me into a full-out run to my daughter's side. I was terrified that there would be a puddle of blood beneath her little head and that I was going to arrive in time to watch my baby girl die, but of course, I was overreacting. I've been told I have the tendancy to do that on occasion. By the time I got to her, she was already sitting up. I'd expected her to be crying or something, but instead, she had the biggest grin I'd ever seen on her face. "I got it!" she piped happily, waving the Frisbee in the air triumphantly. Apparently, having a near-death experience was nothing compared to the fact that she'd caught the damn Frisbee. Have I mentioned that I don't like sports much? By the time we packed everything up and headed home, we both had nice sunburns, were mosquito-bitten, and just generally itchy and uncomfortable. We trudged into the house, exhausted, and faced the daunting task of having to make dinner with what was in my kitchen. Somehow, the head of lettuce that was growing hair didn't sound too appetizing. So, I was left with the difficult task of deciding where we were going out to eat. Since I can't stand fast-food, that sort of limited my options. And there was no way I was taking Julienne to any of the places I'd been with Jean-Claude. For one thing, I didn't feel like spending seventy-five dollars each on pretty food that I'd feel guilty for eating. For another, I was not dressing up. End of story. Unfortunately, that left me exactly five choices. We could have Chinese, Korean, Thai, Mexican, or barbeque. Somehow, I didn't think they had much Mexican or barbeque in France. I was flipping through the phone book when the phone rang. At this point, I was seriously considering turning the damn thing off. The machine included. "Hello?" "Anita?" Bert's voice came over the line. Oh, goody. "Hi, Bert." "Where are you?" "At home." "You had an appointment to meet a client at two-thirty, Anita." He didn't sound happy. Does it make me a bad person if I say him being unhappy gave me that warm, fuzzy feeling that most people reserve for puppies and small children? "I called and left a message with Mary, Bert. I won't be in for at least a week," I told him, managing not to sound smug or like I was enjoying this too much. "You've used up your sick days this year, Anita." "I'm not on sick leave. I'm on personal leave," I explained. "What personal leave?" He was getting really irritated now. Heh. "The kind that's none of your damn business, Bert. That's why it's called 'personal'." "Dammit, Anita. You've got six raisings tonight, and I can't give them to anyone else. Everyone's maxed out," he snapped. Definitely pissed. "Don't get pissy with me, Bert. I called as soon as this problem fell into my lap. It's not my fault you schedule me twice what anyone else gets, and it's not my fault you refuse to hire extra help, either," I reminded him succinctly. "Anita." His voice had gone low and deadly calm. Uh-oh. "Yes?" "You have until Wednesday to resolve your 'personal' issue. If you aren't here Wednesday at one o'clock, you're fired." "Fire me, Bert. Wednesday won't cut it," I replied. "You don't think I'll do it?" he questioned. "Nope. 'Cuz as soon as you do, I'll be on the phone with the labor board, explaining to them how you fired me for not coming to work because I took a leave of absence to be with my daughter," I informed him. "Your what?" "Daughter.Get. Progeny. Girl-child. Do I need to draw you a picture?" I really was enjoying this way too much. "Since when do you have a daughter, Anita?" Bert asked, his voice tight with anger. "Since before you hired me. She just hasn't lived with me until today." "Fine, Anita. You have until Friday at one. You'd better be here, or I'm calling your bluff," he threatened. "I never bluff, Bert," I told him, then hung up. Julienne was staring at me, wide-eyed. I grinned. "It's alright. Bert's all bark and no bite. He's harmless." She didn't look like she believed me, but she let it go. I went back to paging through the phone book, and fought the urge to stomp my foot as the phone rang again. "Dammit, Bert, I'm not coming in!" "Sorry...Want me to hang up so he can call and get yelled at?" Richard asked, sounding amused. "No, sorry, Richard. The phone's been ringing off the hook, and Bert threatened to fire me." "Again?" he was definitely amused now. "Yeah, again. Hey, you eat...Where's a good place to go that's not fast food and won't make me wear a dress?" I asked him. Richard laughed. "Offhand? I have no idea...I usually order Chinese." "Damn." "Sorry. I was just calling to see how things were going with your daughter, and to find out how Jean-Claude took the news," he said. "Things are fine with Julienne. Jean-Claude took it pretty well. He seemed more hurt than anything," I answered. I left out the part where he'd seemed pretty happy that everyone would assume that Julienne was his child. "Okay...well, I've got a lot of papers I need to grade, so I'll let you go. I just wanted to see how things were." "Great, really. We haven't killed anyone or torn the house apart, honest." He laughed. "Anyone else, and that wouldn't be a possibility." "Yeah...Listen, are you going to be offended if I go to the Circus for dinner?" I questioned. "As long as we go out to lunch tomorrow, no," he replied. "Deal. And you're gonna have to show me how to shop for groceries after lunch. My lettuce is so hairy it should have a name," I told him. "Not a problem. I actually know a place that delivers groceries. I'll give you their number tomorrow," he offered. "Thanks, Richard." "No problem. See you around one tomorrow." I hung up and grinned at Julienne. "How do you feel about meeting Jean-Claude tonight?" She squealed. Honest to God squealed. "I'll take that as a yes," I said, amused. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the Circus, making arrangements with Jean-Claude to eat there. As it turned out, all of the wereleopards and most of the werewolves I was close with were there for dinner, too. We could make it a party. As long as anyone didn't try to eat Julienne, everything would be fine. Here's hoping.