If I had a martini for every time someone has suggested that my husband Kevin is a figment of my imagination, I’d be on a permanent bender. When I mention Kevin in public, the response is frequently, “But I’ve never actually seen him.” People I’ve known for years will come up to me at parties and ask, “When do I get to meet the mysterious husband?” That’s because he rarely comes to any of my readings. Really, who can blame him? After a while, all of them run together, and besides, if we hired a babysitter every time I gave a reading, we’d have no money left over for shoes and ice cream.
In the Sunday Style section of the San Francisco Chronicle, Louise Rafkin finally puts the rumors to rest. Kevin is a real live boy, and there’s even a picture to prove it.
