"Resnick, Mike - Myron Blumberg, Dragon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

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"It looks like a cancerous growth," she says.
"It's just a swelling," I say. "There must be a busted spring
in the chair."
"You should see a doctor," she says.
"Last time you sent me to a doctor I turned green," I say.
"This time you'll see a specialist," she says.
"A specialist in swellings?" I ask.
"A specialist in tails," she says.

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"Well?" she asks.
"Well what?"
"What did he say?"
"He says it looks like a tail," I say.
"Hah!" she says. "I _knew_ it!"
"I wonder if our insurance covers tails," I say.
"Is he going to amputate it?" she asks.
"I don't think so," I say. "Why?"
"Because even if our insurance covers getting rid of tails,
it doesn't cover growing them," she says. "What am I going to do
with you, Myron? We've got a bar mitzvah to attend this Saturday,
and you're green and all covered with scales and you keep belching
smoke and fire and now you're growing a tail. What would people
say?"
"They'd say, 'There goes a well-matched couple'," I answer.
"That is _not_ funny," she says. "What am I going to do with
you? I mean, it was bad enough when you just sat around the house
watching football and reading _Playboy_."
"You might fix some dinner while you're thinking about it," I
say.
"What do you want?" she asks. "Saint George?"
I am about to lose my temper and tell her to stop teasing me
about my condition, when it occurs to me that Saint George would
go very well with pickles and relish between a couple of pieces of
rye bread.

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It is when my arms turn into an extra set of legs that she
really hits the roof.
"This is just too much!" she says. "It's bad enough that I
can't let any of my friends see you and that we had to redecorate
the house with asbestos wallpaper" -- it's mauve, and she _hates_
mauve -- "but now you can't even button your own shirts or tie
your shoes."
"They don't fit anyway," I point out.