I looked like a bizarre hybrid of socks, starfish, and fir tree. I was sweating, but that was because having so many layers of clothing on made excellent insulators.
“What can I help clarify, Mrs. Brollish?” My top lip was retreating behind my goatee. My bottom lip was uneven, my facial hair doing its best to mask the not-quite frown that was doing everything it could to not bloom into a smile. I was this close to cracking up.
From beside Brollish, Forrest leveled a finger at me. “He’s gone full baby,” she said. “He can’t even dress himself anymore.”
“Is that why you manhandled me into this office?” I asked, rhetorically. My tone was even, confused, maybe even a little hurt like I felt sorry for her. Fat chance.