There are two churchs down the road that out-sloganeer each other each week. The one closest to the house says something like “Let your inner good show on the outside.” Of course I think of how the entrails of some of the Habsburg emperors were buried outside of their bodies. Or good old Saint Erasmus.

But mainly I think of how butt ugly the parasite is making me. In theory, I have the goodness of innocent infant blood inside (a prized beauty treatment for stars like Dick Cheney and Nicolette Sheridan), but the outside? Not so good. Little Davidette is giving mommy a lackluster mane and tail. Combine this with a minor illness, and I look like a zombie. A zombie with pants that can’t stay up properly because the zombie is not big enough for fat pants, but too small for her regular pants. I lurched into the car fixing place this morning and rattled “Change oil! Brains!” Then I just huddled on the floor by the counter, hissing at people until someone had to put on gloves and drag me to the customer lounge.

While in the lounge, I ate someone for starting a cell phone conversation about how annoying it was to wait in a waiting room. Survival of the fittest. This someone was even uglier than me, if that’s possible.