I awoke this morning to Kitty Pryde, dressed in her French maid's outfit, delivering my breakfast. The omelet smelled heavenly and the sausages look delicious. Taking a sip of the freshly squeezed orange juice, I picked up the morning paper.

Flipping to the political section, I checked to see if there was any news about Jon's campaign. On the front page of that section, I saw this . .

. .



























Involuntarily, the orange juice sprayed out of my mouth in a wide arc. I immediately, after wiping my mouth off, of course, grabbed the phone and called Jon.

"What the hell have you been up to?!" I yelled into the receiver once he answered.

"Hunh? Professor? What time is it? I'm in the Central Zone, you know."

"Have you seen the morning papers?!" I demanded.

"You mean this morning? Hang on . . let me just . . the computer's warming up."

I waited, my impatience growing. How could this have happened? Damn that tramp Emma.

"Holy crap!" Jon yelled, loud enough to wake my whole school. "B-but this . . I never . . I'm married! I would never . . this is just some kind of, I don't know, photographic fakery or something. They must have Photoshopped it together! I couldn't do this!"

"Well it's in all the papers now," I told him. "Even if it is faked, the public is going to make assumptions."

"What are we going to do, Professor??" Jon asked, the desperation unmistakable in his voice.

"I'm thinking."