I wake, discovering Selma, my left boob, is unwell, a week after surgery.
Me: Selma, you’re hard and you’re red and you’re hot. What’s going on?
Selma: It is my boiling outrage!
Me: Ummm…these are warning signs that something could be wrong, like sepsis.
Selma: This is probably your fault.
Me: My fault?!?
Selma: Remember that dream you had two nights ago, about the boob in front of you that was itchy and you scratched it?
Me: That was a great dream–so satisfying.
Selma: That probably wasn’t a dream.
Me: I’m supposed to do something if you have an abscess.
Selma: I have been mightily abused of late, and I shall have my revenge! I am Furiosa!
Me: That was a terrible movie.
Selma: It was a feminist anthem! I am Furiosa!
Me: [Sighing] Let’s go wake up Dante to take us to the ER.
Selma: [sotto voice]: FURIOSA!!!!!
Me: [sotto voice]: That was a wonderful dream.
