Don't talk to me about my temper.

The One Who Types informs me that my stupid brother, Nick, and I are due for "Feline Distemper" shots.

Okay. First of all, I am a queen. Queens decide when they are due for shots, which is, obviously, never.

Second, my temper is fine. I don't need someone to give me a shot to eliminate it . . . or enhance it . . . or whatever this thing does.

And finally, she can take Nick for the shot because he probably deserves it, but I will be staying home.

There. That's the end of that discussion.