Hey, was there a bus here today from Bedlam?

...from the battlements of authority, the gleaming teal tower of the reference desk I am being re-immersed in the everyday meanderings of the not-so-cool and very crazy. The Vatican genealogist has sashayed back into the room, conversing with prelates imagined and startled librarians who accept his gratitude for service not given. "THANKS FOR YOUR HELP!" he booms as he passes, even though neither of us has spoken to him since he announced he would travel to the Vatican to have them flesh out his family tree. Patient er patron number two, a resolute genealogist deeply involved in DAR lineage thickets shows up in women's clothing! I have seen his face and dreaded his droning recountings of Uncle Hiram's meanderings around Clay county many a time. Yet, today that same dreaded countenance is surrounded by a rather professional, albeit shocking lady's wig of a shade called honey blonde on the Clairol packages. He also has scented himself with lady-perfume, applied lip gloss and is attired in a beige ensemble of skirt and blouse certainly not acquired at Frederick's. It looks more like the work of the Dress Barn's closeout sale. Still, I've been obsessed with the whereabout of Snowball all day. It seems that if the little white pup is reunited with his boy-human all will be well in the hell that is Louisiana. Snowball, come back...