"Damn right I would," she giggles as she pulls the tubing carefully out of your arm. "I'm never letting you go, darling." You don't think you mind—she has a curtain of blonde hair & a dazzling smile & you can tell that she has the cutest toes in America, even though her white shoues are closed-toed. "You weren't really sick," she murmurs. "I saw you in a grocery store in Rhode Island & so I slipped a little something in the egg salad, just so you'd act suck enough to come here. Are you very angry?" You're surprised, and you wonder where your family is, but she's already strapped you into a wheelchair & is now pushing you down a pleasant country road, blooming with hollyhocks and foxgloves. You sing a lovely duet of "One Mornin' in May" and she feeds you dried banana chips and Fresca.
Suddenly a burly man jumps out from behind a tree. "Woman!" he yells, "you runnin' around with invalids again?"
"Oh, no, Bobby, oh Bobby I love him!" she squeals, but he's already unsheathed his knife.
