So, you know, when they shoot you full of drugs, even mildly, and then cut you open, even a little bit, they like to keep you talking so they can tell if you’re about to pass out or vomit or die or something.
So, I told her about how I had told her how I’d come to think of it as my witch’s tit, where Satan came to suckle.
And, I am not even shitting you, she said, “Well, obviously.”
Anyway, I’m feeling a little tired, but I can’t yet feel the stitches. So, I may regret not taking some kind of painkiller right when I got home, but so far so good, I don’t think I need it.
I’m supposed to not freak out if if bleeds or leaks today. So, I’m sitting on the couch on a towel. But that’s that.
And you were so worried.*
*Bonus points if you knew I was quoting Grover.