Fiorella's mortal enemy, pun intended, is time. She's never had enough. Too much of it has been taken up with dreary, mundane things like earning a living, picking up other people's messes, and sleeping. If she had her way, her life would have come equipped with a bucketful of money, a full-time maid, and . . . well, there's nothing she can think of to substitute for sleeping. Besides, that's when her pop-up toaster brain works best.
What Fio's getting around to is that the hip operation is on Tuesday, and she wants to make P of BB totally perfect by then so her agent can start pimping it to publishers as soon as possible.
Too much to do in too little time. But then, when has there ever been time enough?