But the beauty of this plan is that when I have grown just another inch or two I will marry Sasha Monroe because she likes taller men, well taller men than me, and we’ll honeymoon in Cambodia where Sasha will eat her first cockroach and I will carve a thin tree-trunk into a boat to take her to the middle of a lake and serenade her under a moon that looks like sodium bicarbonate under blacklight and the whole of the Cambodian people will rise from the long grasses on the shore of the lake and harmonize with me near the end of the song, the net effect of my voice and the voice of the Cambodian people impregnating Sasha with a child who she’ll carry to term in eleven months instead of nine and who will be born in a deep green hospital in Greece and in the stupor of pain and deep green Sasha will ask to name her Jade. This plan assumes Sasha will not marry before I have grown this inch or two.