Twitching late for an afternoon meeting, second in line for a pending appointment with an administrator, I busied myself on my iBook.

Finally he oozed into the office. “All these ladies, waiting for me? How did I get so lucky?” He turned to me, the only little lady not mooning at him — “What’s that you’re doing?”

“Working,” I replied, without interrupting my manic keyboard pecking.

“What on?”

“Writing,” I said, refusing to be interrupted.

The wrinkled receptionist giggled nervously.

My twiggy five-foot-nothing frame decorated ...