Every night after I have an interview, Adam will ask me, "So what was the weirdest question you got?" And usually I have nothing to tell him, because I never get strange questions. I get thoughtful questions, questions about journalism and lesbianism and plus-size fashion, or lack of same, but I never get anything really out-of-left-field, never-saw-it-coming strange.

Well, that all changed today.

I was sitting in the lobby of the Omni Hotel here in Philadelphia, being interviewed by Ralph Collier, a nattily-attired older gentleman, for a program called "I Hear America Talking." And we're covering all of the usual bases -- my career at the Inquirer, the premise of GOOD IN BED, Cannie Shapiro and her ponytailed, pot-smoking ex. And then Mr. Collier starts talking about the funeral scene, and the resulting complications. So far, so good.

"Well, Bruce wasn't much of a mourner," says Mr. Collier. "In fact, right after the service, he pulls out something....and I wasn't familiar with this word. A...'bong.' Jennifer, perhaps you can tell us all what a bong is."

Oh, my.

So there I was, groping through my best set of euphemisms to come up with a viable explanation. (I think I eventually stumbled toward some variation of "it's a big, glass, tube kind of marijuana-delivery-device."), and meanwhile thinking that this was all God's revenge on me for....well, something.

So if any of you are reading this, thinking that the life of an author on tour is nothing but fun, games, and room service, think of me. Think of bongs.