Sister No.1, who shall remain nameless until all the permission slips from the class trip to Crazy come back, calls from the road. She’s driving up and down Route 27, spending money wherever her eye lands, and her toddler sells her down the river to dad with a simple, “Mommy, did you try on that dress?” I informed her it was time to teach that little genius that the lowest form of life is a snitch. And speaking of life, it got a little strange last night when Paulie said he’s going to Milwaukee all next week. I demanded tribute in the form of cheese curds, because I’ve been to Milwaukee for the hell of it and you can’t get cheese curds in New Jersey. What are they? You can google it and get some technical explanation that won’t help even a little. You should think of these little treasures as seeds that didn’t become cheese, like eggs that didn’t become chickens. Some curds were made to grow into full-fledged cheese form; some were made just to make up to me that my Handsome Prince is spending a week near the Schlitz factory.