So I have sketches. This is good. A couple of them are even good this morning, and a couple more will become perfectly acceptable when the deadline is starting to loom.
*Anyone who wishes to live with me adapts, anyway, because the alternative would be like trying to turn a stampede of water oxen with paintbrushes, and would simply result in trampling, not out of malice but because The Herd Is Going This Way Now And Goodness I Had No Idea Your Bones Were So Fragile I Promise I Will Call An Ambulance When The Sketch Is Finished. Presumably there's a non-adaption option, but I've never witnessed it, since nobody who couldn't adapt to life with an artist would be fool enough to get mixed up with me. Kevin, to his infinite credit, goes the extra mile and usually carries extra pencils and paper on his person in case I need to get an idea down Right This Minute and there are no napkins.**
**He should probably just carry around a drawing of echidna penises, too, since I always wind up drawing that at parties.