Twice during the next week Leo arranged matches for me. And twice those kindly old ladies surged through the ropes to protect me.
For awhile I kept hoping my new personality would wear off like a hangover. But it kept getting stronger and stronger. If I ran a stop light, some cop would roar up and apologize for that light's being red. If I stepped into a bar to order a drink, the bartender would beat his forehead in anguish. "Freddy!" he'd scream. "You got to take better care of your stomach! Don't drink that slop I beg you!"
Even my pigs were affected by my new waveform. The time I flew back to Illinois to check on my farm, those pigs chased me clear out of the county. Nipped at my heels and bayed like beagles, those pigs did.
I wasn't too upset about it. I planned on selling the farm anyway. Now that I'm in the diplomatic service, I won't have much time for pig farming. Being the ambassador to Russia is a big job, and I'm worried about it. I don't know whether I'll like having all those Cossacks call me Uncle Freddy. I don't know what I'll do with the Kremlin when they give it to me.