Yes, I know that everyone tonight is hating me, and that is because I am the queen of light. I am the queen of light housework after light breakfast; I am the queen of light television after reading light Victorian novels rich with sensitive scents, and vivid imagery. I am the queen of light cream flowing over light chocolate coated around light frozen confections, one for each day of the week, after a luxurious light nap after a light lunch of light turkey and fluffy light “made by scratch” bread. I dine on such bread with light butter in front of light television: Dr. Phil, The Late Show, and, of course, Wheel of Fortune. Nothing about my life is serious, including the light haze of olive oil scented heat created by the iron pot cooking the light evening meal. My life is a luxurious ritual of sensuous splendor, the teacher’s summer. I’m never experienced before, except when I was a writer creating proposals for oil companies, leaning into famous faces, dodging cameras, and sensuously kissing lips that I sincerely loved, wanting to have that moment of honesty: come back to me.