Cammie sits at the kitchen table with my manuscript, preparing to do battle with the forces of literary evil. I raise her Hare Krishna mug – an Earthday gift – to my lips and sip some bitter shit she’s forced on me again. I read somewhere that green tea, being both an appetite suppressant and a laxative, is like nectar to women. But I’m not a woman. And I need a beer. As if reading my thoughts, she looks up abruptly. Genghis Khan shouts an ancestral Holla! from her almond-sha