This little tidbit of fiction arrived unexpectedly, while I was sitting in a coffee shop attempting to proofread.

I’m writing this memoir so it can be sold as part of my estate once I’m dead. Not that I’m expecting to die anytime soon. But I’ve noticed these artifacts are most valuable if they reveal previously unknown facts about the subject’s early childhood. With 13 looming on the horizon, I have to get going.

This is how I would like my lawyer (likely a permanent member of my staff by then) to allot my income, royalties, and remaining unsold devices or personal papers. First, said lawyer is to ask my oldest living female relative to classify the rest of my family. She is to rank them, beginning with the most responsible, mature, and deserving and ending with the one most likely to case anxiety, disappear overnight, or experiment with obscure chemicals. The last of the list, the most degenerate soul of the clan, is to receive my estate.

I have decided on this method because my grandmother saw my face this morning and almost tipped out of her chair.

“You’re blue!” she howled. A bit like saying the sun is yellow. I mean, it was obvious. Pointing is out was redundant.

Although… you never know. My mother might not have noticed if Grandma hadn’t sounded like a sick coyote.

“Nothing serious,” I assured her.

I have no idea why his face is blue. Any ideas?