Several weeks later, Ms. Thigh began to express concern that I had not
yet agreed to present my works at her gallery.

"As I informed you, Ms. Thigh. I am only interested in the
tactile sensations you can provide me with. I have no desire to
be featured at the gift shop of the Star Base 12 McDonalds."

"I thought as much.

It's my annoying habit of yelping like a poodle when I come, isn't it?"

"I honestly had not noticed.

When did you exhibit this behaviour?"

"I didn't."

I could not say that I enjoyed the implications of her parting remark.

Perhaps it was time to fit myself with some sort of prosthesis, to enhance my
natural action figure smooth area.

At this time, Mrs. Artiste decided to enter and inform me of some additional data
I was not cognizant of.

You rat bastard. I was in Pon Farr all last week and you didn't even notice.

I no longer wish to associate with you.

I am leaving you now.

I am also confiscating your immense collection of 20th century toys as joint
property. I will be feeding them to a Horta.

I will send you the processed remains.

Live long and prosper.

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