Actual Conversation

The Matron spent another day combing hair (see The Lice Chronicles), cleaning upholstery, washing bedding (after attending a three hour workshop for her job) and contemplating, more less non-stop, the odd feeling on her own scalp -- a sensation that shifts and morphs and grows, sort of leaning into every spot that she THINKS about. Which is the whole darn head.

For new readers, let it be known that the Matron is a bona fide hypochondriac. The emergency room? Sort of like heaven. There is diagnostic equipment there.

Matron, at midnight, exhausted: "I am SO tired."

John, moving closer: "But aren't these bugs sort of an aphrodisiac?"

Matron: "Touch me and I divorce you."

John: "But doesn't trial and tribulation bring us closer together?"

Matron: "Not when it means touching the head of anyone else in this household."

John: "How about other body parts?"