For my fabulous grandmother Betty Yaeger, whose antics are only forgiven because she firmly believes she’s the queen of England—or some facsimile thereof. The woman who at ninety-three years old said to my mother the night before her most recent birthday, “Why is everybody celebrating you? I’m the one who went through all the suffering and the labor.” A truly magnificent one-of-a-kind being, whom I adore despite—and because of—all she is. This one’s for you, Grandma.