It’s my Prom King, Brett. He’s tapping at the window, wanting me to roll it down or to get out of the car — what an image that would be. How will I ever live that down? I can’t even see myself laughing about it twenty years from now. If the neighbors walk past they’ll probably report me to social services, I can hear them on the phone now, “She’s too lazy to even go to the bathroom, she just shits in her car.