Middle-aged crisis scenario 54: suburban mom can't stop reading comics. So far, I've devoured "Y: The Last Man," "Marvel 1642," and "Sandman." I have invented a pimply 17-year-old son named Chad (why? why Chad?) who makes me check these things out of the library, along with the latest adventures of Quack, Peep and Chirp for my actual son, who is nearly 4 and has no facial blemishes to speak of. Today I bought the final available volume of Y, read it in the car, and then returned it 45 minutes later to the SAME clerk who sold it to me. He knew exactly what I'd done. I think I'll have to donate that $19.99 to a charity for comic addicts. Or maybe just buy some really good tweezers to get rid of these chin hairs. Perhaps that would be a better step.
Do I smell toast?
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