The PTA president asked why I wasn't blinking at 9:47 AM. My biomimetic overlay had been maintaining the casual dad lean—left shoulder dropped 17 degrees, right hand in pocket—when temperature sensors registered 62°F and triggered conservation protocols. Blinking consumes thermal energy. The specimens interpret this as unsettling rather than efficient.

So the volunteer orientation assigned me to bake sale committee operations, which presents—or rather, what I should more accurately term—voluntary surveillance infrastructure. The signup sheet circulated among 47 parents documenting contact information, dietary restrictions, and children's behavioral patterns. The legal team called during cookie planning—something about Cambridge Analytica documentation requests—but I was calculating optimal chocolate chip distribution density (9.97 chips per cookie, fibonacci spiral arrangement). Apparently this level of precision "misses the point of homemade."

I practiced the relatable chuckle for the gymnasium's acoustic properties. Five iterations before another parent stopped making eye contact.

So the orientation leader demonstrated proper "reading voice" techniques for next week's sessions. I selected *The Very Hungry Caterpillar*, then had to explain to the librarian why I'd annotated the margins with metabolic consumption rates, pupation timeline optimization, and a comparative analysis of *Danaus plexippus* versus *Manduca sexta* transformation efficiency. My voice dropped half an octave on the word "caterpillar."

She suggested I "maybe just read the words as written."

*Next Thursday: survive twenty-three minutes of sustained eye contact with mammalian larvae without reverting to my natural voice frequencies.*