Twice during the next week Leo arranged matches for me. And twice those
kindly old ladies surged through the ropes to protect me.
For awhile I kept hoping my new personality would wear off like a
hangover. But it kept getting stronger and stronger. If I ran a stop
light, some cop would roar up and apologize for that light's being red.
If I stepped into a bar to order a drink, the bartender would beat his
forehead in anguish. "Freddy!" he'd scream. "You got to take better
care of your stomach! Don't drink that slop I beg you!"
Even my pigs were affected by my new waveform. The time I flew back to
Illinois to check on my farm, those pigs chased me clear out of the
county. Nipped at my heels and bayed like beagles, those pigs did.
I wasn't too upset about it. I planned on selling the farm anyway. Now
that I'm in the diplomatic service, I won't have much time for pig
farming. Being the ambassador to Russia is a big job, and I'm worried
about it. I don't know whether I'll like having all those Cossacks call
me Uncle Freddy. I don't know what I'll do with the Kremlin when they
give it to me.