Summary: This story is a sequel to "Murphy's Law", set on St. Patrick's Day, about six month after the film/book
Disclaimer: I own none of the ingredients, only the (frequently 'unique') recipes that result -- Bon Appetit
Lucky Charm
Miranda, head wrapped in a towel, opened the door to Caroline's bedroom. Her ice blue silk pajama pants peeked out beneath the bottom edge of a matching robe.
"Almost done, mom," her daughter stated without looking up from what she was doing at her desk in the corner of the room.
The woman crossed her arms over her chest as she looked over Caroline's shoulder to see what she was doing. Caroline was hunched over, carefully pressing down on something on the desk surface.
"What are you doing?" A maternal hand gently came to rest on a shoulder.
"Hang on. Just a fewww more seconds."
While they both waited, Cassidy skipped into the room and plopped down on the bed.
"So, Carrie. Let's see."
Caroline took a deep breath before lifting a small item up in the air. From Miranda's vantage point, the overhead light reflected off a small piece of glass, obscuring her view.
"Here you go, Mom. We want you to have it."
"Yeah," Cassidy chirped as she rose up onto her knees near the foot of the bed, attempting a peek of the item as her sister handed it over her shoulder.
Miranda scratched her neck with one hand, the other reaching out to accept the gift. Turning it over in her hand, she realized what it was. Caroline had pressed the four-leaf clover found earlier in the evening between two small squares of glass.
"How did you do this?" Her voice soft, pleased.
"I put a very small drop of water on it, then used a couple of slides from my chemistry set to flatten it."
"Did you get the Barbie baster to work for the glue?" Cassidy queried, turning to face her sibling, crawling off the bed and circling around her mother to peer at the bottle of glue standing near a corner of the desk.
"Well, the glue dried too fast in the pipette, so I just dipped the tip into the bottle top and tapped a little at a time along the edges to seal it as best I could." Miranda turned the pressed clover so she could observe the edging, running a finger gently along the seams. There was a smooth, opaque stripe running around all four sides. She raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile.
"This is lovely, Bobsey. Thank you." She bent over to kiss Caroline's cheek.
Cassidy reached out, tentatively, wishing to examine the final result for herself. Miranda handed it over.
"Caroline, where is the container of green hair color?"
"I dunno."
"I'll get it, Mom. You should have some of the models at work use it. Or maybe Emily. The new one. She's blonde and I'll bet it would look good on her."
Caroline and Miranda watched as Cassidy skipped out of the room.
"Time to get ready for bed, then, Caroline. It's almost nine-thirty."
Cassidy returned, handing her mother the good luck charm and a small silver canister with a green screw top.
"Here ya go, Mom."
Miranda accepted the items and followed her back out of the room.
"I'll be back shortly," she gave Caroline a warning look.
About fifteen minutes later, Miranda had read the small print on the hair color and grimaced when there was no clue to be found as to why she couldn't get the green to wash out as intended. She returned to Caroline's room to find her daughter tucked into bed, paging through an issue of National Geographic Kids.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pat her daughter's knees through the bed covers.
"Lights out."
"Ooo-kay." Caroline closed the magazine and handed it, reluctantly, over to her mother. Miranda held back a smile, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and turned out the bedside lamp before she left the room. As she closed the door behind her and crossed the hall to Cassidy's room, she paused just inside the bathroom that separated the two rooms, flicking on the night light over the dual sinks.
Cassidy was also in bed, sheets pulled fairly tight up around her chest while a pale foot stuck out to one side of loosened bedding at the other end.
"Carrie thinks you should keep it in your pocket for good luck, you know."
Miranda sat down, wearily. Cassidy was always the more talkative, sometimes needing to chatter at her mother for a few minutes to wind down for the night. She laid the magazine on her lap, feeling her hip resting against Cassidy's legs.
"What do you think?"
"Well," Cass paused to yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "I think if you believe it will give you good luck, then it will. Carrie put a wish on it that what Dad said is true."
Miranda tilted her head slightly, feeling the towel loosen. Carefully, she tightened it around her scalp before placing a hand down on the bed on the other side of her daughter's legs. She allowed her weight to shift onto the arm, quite tired.
She didn't ask the obvious question. Cassidy would volunteer it up, momentarily, of her own accord.
"When we were at his house last month, he said that he didn't think Stephen was a good pick, but that maybe you would do better next time. He said that 'the third time's the charm.'"
Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
"Well, that's an interesting thought." Miranda gave her daughter an appraising look.
"Yeah," Cassidy sighed.
"I wouldn't have imagined Caroline would believe such things," she prompted her daughter.
"Why do you think she made you that lucky charm? Geez, Mom," Cass scoffed.
The look of hurt on her mother's face was fleeting, but did not escape attention. Cassidy instinctively leaned forward, arms pulling her smaller body into her mother's torso.
"I didn't mean it to sound like that."
Miranda could feel the lump rising in her throat.
"Shh." She held her daughter close, unsure whose heartbeat she felt, galloping away. Slowly, though, she noticed it slowing down to the point where she could distinguish two separate hearts, beating in a sort of rhythm. It was comforting and gave her an unanticipated sense of calm.
Eventually, Cassidy pulled away a little, gave her mother a kiss near the corner of her lips, and settled back into her bed pillow. Miranda smoothed her daughter's hair, stood, and flicked off the lamplight.
"Mom?"
She turned in the doorway, light streaming in from the hall, casting a long shadow over her daughter's bed so that she couldn't see the expression on Cassidy's face.
"If you decided not to keep the shamrock, you probably should give it to that Andrea person, since she kind of found it. You know, because maybe it will give her good luck." There was a pause. "Maybe she might believe it works."
Miranda smiled at the absurdity of tracking down Andrea Sachs to give her the four-leaf clover charm.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Bobsey, I turned on the night light."
"Thanks," came the relieved reply. Miranda closed the bedroom door partway, flicking off the hallway light as she descended the stairs. Cassidy's conversation had hit a tender spot.
She poured herself a drink from the small wet bar in the sitting room, wandering restlessly into the kitchen, then on through the dining room, back into the sitting room, and to the front, formal living room, where she settled into one of the wing back chairs, contemplating her complete and utter failures on the romantic front. Two divorces did not bode well for her image. The next time, if there was one, she would have to be sure.
After several trips into the sitting room to refill her glass, she felt her brain going numb, her thoughts fuzzy.
There were the soft sounds, somewhere around ten-thirty, of the new Emily dropping off the Book. Miranda intended to get up, gather it, and go to bed. But her legs were tired, her eyelids heavy. Maybe in a few minutes.
Some time later, she awoke with a start. She looked around in the darkness, attempting to capture how much time had passed. With a grimace, she stood, stiffly. Her lower back ached a little, and she had a slight headache. Reaching down to the small table, she gathered up her empty glass, wandered back to the sitting room for a last sip to ease out the pains before she went up to bed. The clock along the far wall indicated it was almost half-past twelve.
As she was about to tip back the glass of amber liquid, there was a knocking sound. Miranda ignored it, throwing back the shot, leaving the stained drinking glass on the side table. Moving back towards the entryway to gather up the Book, the knocking came again.
The marble floor seemed to rock, only just a little, as she stepped to the front door. She was more than a little surprised to see Andrea Sachs on the other side. The young woman was leaning against the doorframe, smelling of stale beer and holding the now well-battered green top hat that Miranda had seen earlier.
"Andrea," she intoned.
"Hey, Miranda."
"You smell like a brewery. Why are you here?"
"Lily's boyfriend spilled his drink on me earlier," Andy looked down at her forest green sweater. "It is kinda gross."
"You did not answer my question."
"Oh. Um, I think Lily accidentally took my purse with her when she left the party I was at. And my cell phone was in it, too. But, we were just a couple of blocks from here, so…and it's a really long walk home."
"Andrea, even Tolstoy could tell a tale more succinctly. Get to the point."
"I was wondering if maybe you had a couple of dollars for the subway. There's a station not too far from here. Definitely not as far as home. Oh," Andy blinked, wearily, holding back a yawn, "I would pay you back, of course."
Miranda blinked.
"Andrea, you are drunk. There is no other explanation for your appearance on my doorstep in the middle of the night."
Andy was fighting, desperately, to keep her eyes open. Miranda was about to shut the door on the young woman, when the reporter started to slide down the doorframe a little bit.
"Oh. Yeah. Okay. I didn't think…," Andy trailed off, falling asleep right there on the small porch.
"You aren't going to use my front steps as your own little homeless shelter, Andrea. Get inside or leave."
Andy straightened up, albeit slowly.
"Thanks, Miranda," she stated as her ex-employer opened the door wider for her to enter.
"Andrea, you are in no shape to be riding the subway with drug dealers, murderers, and general scum of the earth. You can spend the night in the guest room."
Miranda shut the front door, checked the latch, and took Andrea by the arm, leading the willing young woman further inside. They both looked up the carpeted steps thinking, similarly, that the climb would be a challenge.
Miranda wished she hadn't had let Cassidy's comments get to her. She would, at that moment, rather have been asleep in bed, then brooding over her failures in love, nursing drink after drink.
Andrea wished she hadn't gone out with her friends after working for 32 hours without sleep. She wished she hadn't let Lily hold her purse for her when she went to the ladies' room before leaving the pub. And she wished that the only place she could remember being within walking distance of the pub wasn't Miranda Priestly's.
Slowly, hesitantly, they made their way up two flights of stairs, Miranda clenching the handrail for support and Andrea leaning against the wall, too weak to keep her body upright on her own.
"Get some sleep." Andy's glassy eyes followed the movement of a hand pointing to a half-closed door.
"Thanks, Miranda." Andy's feet dragged over the plush, cream carpeting. Without looking around the room or flicking on the light, she kicked off her shoes and slid, fully dressed, under the covers.
Miranda made to ascend another flight to the master suite, but at the last minute, turned back and cautiously entered the guest room.
"Andrea," she stated coolly.
When she got no response, she moved closer to the bed.
"Andrea."
Still nothing. She leant over the bed and felt the floor roll under her feet. Miranda sat down, waiting for the moment to pass.
The next morning, Andy yawned awake, feeling somewhat rested, although not altogether so. She groggily attempted to remember what day it was, and whether she have to go in to work or could go back to sleep.
That's when she felt something move in the bed next to her.
"What the --," she sprang up, pulling back from the other body invading her space.
Her eyes bugged out when she saw that she wasn't in her own bed. She wasn't even in her own apartment. Dear God, the body atop the bedcovers, with its back to her had curves prominent through a pale blue silk robe. Yep, curves.
Rubbing her face, Andy looked again. Nope. Nothing had changed.
That's when she saw the shock of white hair, with a streak of green.
"Sh--," she cursed, silently.
With a level of agility uncommon to her usually clumsy limbs, she peeled back the covers and sprang over the slumbering, silk-robed body. Quietly, she snuck out of the room and into the bathroom, attempting to freshen up with as little noise as possible.
When she looked in the mirror, she cringed at her appearance. Her hair smoothed down quite nicely, especially once she pulled it back into a loose ponytail, held in place with a band she found while snooping through the various vanity drawers. Her sweater smelled disgusting, and her slacks were wrinkled beyond any level of acceptability. After washing her face and a downing a couple of glasses of water from the tap, she felt marginally passable as a human being.
Andy knew she had been tired last night. Beyond tired, when she allowed herself to admit it. And she had known that the half-pint of Guinness she had downed at the pub would have more of a somnolent effect on her than usual, because of the sleep deprivation. But, never in a million years, would she have imagined she had the gall to go to Miranda Priestly's home. And for reasons she didn't care to contemplate, Miranda had ended up sleeping next to her. While she was reasonably certain nothing had happened, Andy prayed fervently that she hadn't talked in her sleep. She was sure, if she had talked, her words would have given away some of her underlying, and frankly embarrassing, fantasies.
Stomach knotting up, she returned to the guest room. The bed was empty, but messed up, a bunched up white towel sitting atop one of the pillows.
She didn't know whether to be relieved or not. She wasn't going to have to face Miranda now, but surely she couldn't escape from the woman's townhouse completely unnoticed. That would be too easy.
Reluctantly, she slipped on her shoes, one of which was found under a chair in the corner. With a glance around the room to be sure she hadn't forgotten anything, she prepared for her departure.
Her life seriously sucked.
Attempting to appear relaxed, Andy descended the stairs to the ground floor, hearing the rising sound of girls' voices arguing over, from the sound of it, breakfast cereal.
Once in the entryway, Andy considered whether she should just sneak out the front door. It would be bad form not to at least thank Miranda for the allowance of the guest room, but if she was in the kitchen with her daughters, Andy knew that interrupting such a scene would be considered even more inappropriate.
"Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming to breakfast?" Andy's eyes snapped into focus, the redheaded girl standing just beyond the staircase giving her a look of impatience.
"Um."
"Mom said you crashed here last night. C'mon." The girl disappeared down the hallway towards the back of the house. Andy, swallowing hard, followed, wondering why she believed a Priestly daughter leading her deeper into their household was wise, given the results of the last time she had fallen for such a ploy.
"There you are." Miranda gave Andrea a cursory glance from where she stood, leaning against one of the counters, sipping a glass of juice. She made the statement sound like she had been standing there, waiting for hours.
"I expect you'll be wanting coffee. It should be ready momentarily," Andy followed Miranda's gaze to the large coffeemaker built into one wall.
"Um," Andy started then stopped. Miranda and changed out robes and was now wrapped in a fluffier, midnight blue version, the color clashing with the prominent green stripe along the left side of her head.
The older woman ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair. She could feel the reporter staring at her and felt nervous, exposed. Changing into a thicker robe didn't give her the increased sense of security she was hoping for.
"Mom, we're really sorry about the color. It was supposed to come out. Really." The daughter whom had cornered Andy near the front door stated, obviously guilt ridden by the sight of her mother futzing with the section of hair.
"Caroline, it's okay. Mumsy will just work from home this morning. I'm sure that Harold will have some sort of magical hair crème that will take care of it."
Andy cracked her neck a little, a nervous habit.
Miranda shot her a look before turning back to the girls. Andy noted the blue-grey eyes were slightly bloodshot and felt guilty for noticing.
"Just because I've slept in this morning, doesn't mean you can be late for school. Finish your breakfast and brush your teeth before Ted gets here."
Two heads simultaneously dipped briefly in understanding before the girls ran from the room.
Miranda sighed, moved to the coffeemaker. Andy wandered over to the table and, unsure what to do with herself, picked up the twins' cereal bowls, carrying them over to the sink.
"You don't need to do that, Andrea. Charlotte will take care of that."
"Yeah, okay." Andy placed the bowls in the sink basin, swallowed her pride, and prepared to apologize for her actions the previous night.
"Miranda, thanks for, well, letting me stay last night. I knew I was tired after working for a couple of days without sleep, but, well, I didn't know one beer was going to push me so far over the edge."
The Editor waved her off, turning to pull mugs from a cabinet.
"Milk in your coffee?"
"Yes. Yes, please."
"Cold or steamed?"
"Huh?"
Miranda sighed, leaned against the wall next to the coffeemaker. Andy walked over, placed a tentative hand on Miranda's upper arm.
"The green is not half-bad, you know. Actually, its, well, kind of cute," she stated.
"Really?" There was skepticism in Miranda's voice. Not so much that most people would notice, but Andrea had developed an ear for the fine nuances of her now ex-employer's speech.
"Yeah. Definitely." Andy didn't know what caused her to do so, but she lifted her hand from the arm, let her fingertips smooth through the ruffled hair. Miranda started to lean into the touch before suddenly pulling back.
"Steamed milk, Andrea?"
"Um, yeah. Sure."
The young woman watched as Miranda turned knobs, tapped buttons, and shortly presented her with a hot mug of fairly dark brown liquid.
"Thanks."
"Hand me my phone."
Andy looked around, finding the cell phone near the stove while Miranda was preparing another mug of coffee.
The older woman quickly flipped the phone open, mashed a button.
"Emily. I need my hairdresser to come to the house. Now. Reschedule my morning meetings as conference calls and cancel the interview with the new back-up photographer."
"Must I repeat myself? Have Emily call me as soon as she gets in. That's all." There was a level of annoyance in her voice that sent waves of icy chill through the kitchen. Andy clung to her mug for warmth, waiting for the moment to pass.
Barely a minute later, the phone hummed in Miranda's hand.
"Emily. I don't care whether James wants to meet with me in person or not. When I say that I want my morning meetings scheduled as conference calls, I will not stand for challenging questions from a vapid tortoise. Tell her she's fired and let HR know that they really need to require applicants to be able to spell their name at the least. Even better if they can write their name – preferably using a something more advanced than a Crayola crayon. That's all." She flipped the phone shut.
Andy was very glad she wasn't working at Runway anymore. The Editor side to Miranda was not something she missed. Well, mostly.
"Mom, we're going," called a soft voice.
"Excuse me for a moment, Andrea." Andy's jaw practically dropped at hearing Miranda speak to her with such civility. That, and the awkward moment at the coffeemaker had her head spinning. She really needed to get back to her apartment so she could get more sleep. Obviously, she was still sleep deprived.
"Have a good day at school. I'll see you this evening." Miranda gave Cassidy a pat on the shoulder.
"Mom, you can wear the hat, if you want." Caroline tentatively reached out to her mother with a knit cap in a rainbow of colors.
"Thank you, Caroline." She took it and gave her daughter a half-hug before shooing the girls out the front door to where Ted was opening the door to the back seat of the town car.
After watching them pull away, she closed the front door, making her way back to the kitchen.
"I probably should get going, then, too." Andy stated as soon as the older woman entered the room.
"Yes. Well."
"What is that??" Miranda arched an eyebrow at the mix of incredulity and teasing in Andrea's voice.
"Caroline's favorite hat. She thought it might help." Miranda dropped the hat on the closest countertop.
"I dunno. It could be a real fashion statement." Andy reached for it, donning it with a smile.
"What do you think?"
Miranda put a hand in a pocket, felt the small clover charm she had transferred to it earlier. Turning over the object in her fingers, she briefly closed her eyes, heart racing.
She snorted in response to the query.
Andy removed the hat and dropped it back on the countertop.
"Okay. Well, then. I'm going. Thanks again. That was, well, gracious."
"Andrea, were you planning on going out into the world in those smelly rags?"
Miranda had no idea why she was asking this, why she was thinking of doing what she, quite foolishly, was doing.
"Um. Just until I can get to my apartment."
A quick roll of the eyes, "Wait here for a moment. I'm sure that I have something that will fit." Andy watched, blinking, while Miranda disappeared up a back stairway, returning a few minutes later with a pair of dark brown slacks and a matching blouse.
"There's a half-bath, through there."
Andy silently took the proffered clothes, moved through the kitchen to a bathroom tucked in the archway leading into the sitting room.
Emerging a minute later, she tucked her own clothes under an arm.
"Much better. While I would like to have that sweater, in particular, thrown on a bonfire, I suppose you can pick up your items this weekend." Miranda stated while deftly taking the soiled items, dropping them near the back door.
Seeing the quizzical look on Andrea's face, she clarified, "You are free for dinner with us on Saturday? God knows I can't have the girls thinking I allow random strangers to wander in at all hours and spend the night."
Andy tried to keep her voice light, "Oh, yeah. Of course."
"Good."
They stood there, gazing at each other, neither sure what to say or do next. Thankfully, there was a sharp rap at the door to interrupt.
Miranda's face broke into a relieved smile when she discovered her hairdresser standing on the porch, holding two large brown leather suitcases.
"I brought all my gear, just in --. Oh. My. Okay," Miranda bit back a smile at Harold tripping over his own words.
"Andrea, it looks like Ted is back out front. He'll take you home."
"Oh. Um. Thanks again." Andy scurried towards the door, hoping to escape before her world became any more unreal.
"Andrea? I believe this is yours."
Andy looked back at Miranda from the front door, one foot already out. She held out a hand to accept whatever small item the woman was attempting to hand off.
"Thanks. I'll, well, see you Saturday."
"Seven-thirty." And the door shut behind her.
Andy looked at her wristwatch. Not quite nine. She asked Ted to take her to Lily's place, where she would rouse her friend from slumber to get back her purse and, more importantly, the keys to her own apartment where she could get more rest.
As the car weaved through morning traffic, Andy studied the small charm in her hand. Perhaps there was some truth to four-leaf clovers bringing good luck after all. Miranda had been incredibly kind. The feel of the designer clothes reminded her of the beautiful woman who lent them to her, causing a shy smile.
Back at the townhouse, while Miranda waited for Harold to set up his gear in the guest bathroom, she wandered into the bedroom next door, studying the messy bed and contemplating the events of the past twenty-four hours.
"I'm sorry to ask, but do you have any coffee, perhaps? Then, I should be ready to begin."
"Of course." Miranda shifted, made her way to the kitchen to make a fresh cup for herself and one for Harold. As she waited for the machine to kick into gear, she spied the hat on the countertop. She slid her cell phone out of the pocket of her robe.
"Cassidy. I gave the charm to Andrea, as you suggested. And, Cassidy, tell your sister I remember the hat story. I'll see you this evening."
She snapped the phone shut, fingered the hat for a moment before returning from her reverie to pour the coffee and climb the stairs to get the ridiculous green removed from her hair.
A short while later, Cassidy approached Caroline as she exited from study hall.
"Mom called."
Caroline gave her sister a puzzled look, "Are we in trouble?"
"I don't think so. She said she remembers the hat story." They stopped in their tracks, simultaneously. Turning into each other, they stared each other down, blue-grey eyes meeting blue-grey eyes in silent conversation.
Whatever could their mother mean? Why was it important to know she remembered the hat story?
- - - - - - - - - -
Flashback- 2 years previously
Caroline had screwed up a piano recital and was inconsolable. One afternoon shortly afterwards, Miranda had met the girls as they left school. She carefully placed the absurd rainbow knit cap on Caroline's head, the accessory recovered from the 'reject' bin in the Closet earlier that day.
"Mom, I don't like rainbows. That's Cass."
"I thought it might cheer you up."
"Yeah, isn't that the magic hat, Mom?" Cassidy interrupted, reaching to touch it, reverently.
Miranda rolled her eyes at Cassidy's widening smile. The girls had just finished the third Harry Potter book, and had been requiring her to tell them magical stories of her own at bedtime on the weekends. Obviously, Cassidy was attempting to expand the practice into after-school time as well. So be it.
"Indeed. It is the magical hat. I haven't told you about it before, but I think you should know about it now." She paused, gazing down at her distraught daughter, before continuing.
'This hat was created by elfin magic. Whenever someone finds a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, they have a choice – whether to take the pot of gold, or to take a magical hat. When I was a little older than you are now, I found the end of a rainbow. And that is the magical hat I got that day."
"But what does it do?" Caroline asked, forgetting her personal frustrations.
"Well, a pot of gold can be spent so quickly, and once it's gone, it's gone. But a magical hat makes whoever wears it as valuable as a pot of gold. So, if you wear it, you will have very good luck, Caroline. It's magic doesn't disappear like gold coins. You will be rich in ways that money can't buy."
"Oh," the twins responded, simultaneously.
"The only people that can see and know that you are covered by the good luck of the magical hat are people that have worn the hat themselves."
"Wow. You can see that I have good luck? What does it look like?" Caroline looked, expectantly, up at her mother.
"Well, right now, good luck looks just like you," she stated, simply, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, lips curled in a wondrous smile.
"Cool. Thanks, Mom." She hugged her mother fiercely.
"Sometimes, maybe, if you want to borrow it back, you can," came the solemn follow-up.
"Okay. And maybe your sister can borrow it, too, once in awhile."
Cassidy gave her mother a critical look, expressing how very much she was NOT going to wear THAT hat, even if it had all her favorite colors. Miranda bit back a laugh. Cassidy had acquired her own, very strict sense of fashion that continued to puzzle her mother.
- - - - - - - - - -
A school bell rang, echoing down the hallway, causing the girls to break their gaze. The puzzlement over why their mother felt it important to call about the magic hat was lost on them as they head off to their next set of courses.
Several blocks away, though, Miranda's mind kept returning to the memory of how wonderful Andrea had looked in that moment, standing in her kitchen, with the magical hat on her head. Perhaps there was some good luck in that four-leaf clover after all.
What was she thinking? A magical hat? Four-leaf clovers bringing good luck? Unconsciously, she rolled her eyes at such nonsense.
"Don't move," Harold calmly intoned as he massaged an indigo lather into her scalp.
~ That's All~
A/N: I am not continuing this particular thread further. However, I am working on an outline for a sequel to the "Nec Temere, Nec Timide" (Neither Rashly, Nor Timidly) series - to include a cross-over with 'Damages' . :) It will, in actual fact, be a bit before that gets posted, as there are a few course essays for real life requiring my more immediate attention. (sigh)