“So it’s the other slayer.”

“Beg pardon?”

Really?  OK, maybe she really didn’t understand me.  ”Eliza Dushku, right?”

Her look stays clueless for a moment, then softens.  ”Oh, you’re talking about who’s playing me, aren’t you?”

“And who are you?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to figure that out, rather than me telling you.”

“Well, shit.”  I look down at myself and see the floral muumuu hiding my overweight form.  ”I’m It, and not like in a game of tag.”  I look back up at her.  Yup, I’m It.  She is totally hot, and I immediately imagine what I would like to do about this.  ”Are you supposed to be turning me on, even though I’m played by a female?”

Crooked smile.  Five-by-five.  ”Not sure if I can help that, one way or another.”

I can’t avoid sneering a bit.  ”Yeah, it must be tough being so hot.”

“I can wait.  Take all the time you need.”

“It’s not a big mystery.  The blogger is tired of Gellar and Stewart, and is watching Dollhouse.”

She pooches her lip.  ”Well, you’re just spoiling everything today.  A ton of fun, you are, lady.”

“The ton part is right.”

She looks serious.  ”Ton as in weight, but not physical.  You’re supposed to be appetite, desire, something like that, right?  Ton as in weight, but the weight is on the heart, on the soul.”

I would REALLY like some scotch.  I just sigh and remain silent.

“You see yourself as little more than the weight of sexual desire in us.  It’s that weight that you imagine is excessive.”

“Why the hell am I thought-narrating this?  You’re the bleeding eeeee-goh, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’ve seemed to be so far.  There may be a little ambiguity left.”

“There’s enough fucking ambiguity in here to choke a hippopotamus!”

“Weighty animal.  Weight is the theme, but we’re not talking about being fat.”

“We’re never actually talking about what we’re talking about.  That’s the psad psychoanalytic pstory.”

She smiles again.  ”Cute.  But the most important thing here is for you to get that the weight is not being fat.  You hadn’t really thought about that, before.”

I think about coming up with a snide reply, but just shake my head.

“You see sexuality as a weight…”

I interrupt.  ”You say that I SEE it as a weight.  Am I supposed to buy the claim that it’s NOT a weight?”

“No claims are for sale at the moment, except that which has been stated.”

I smirk.  ”It is you.  You can be such an officious bitch.”

She nods.  ”The irony being how much we hate officiousness.  But that’s hardly surprising.  Now, if I may continue where I left off, you see sexuality as a weight.  The important thing at this moment is not the truth or falsity of that perception, but the need to SEE THAT YOU SEE THAT WAY.”

I’m not sure what my face looks like, but what I’m going for is a mixture of boredom and contempt.  Probably failing.  ”That’s all?”

She nods again.  ”At the moment.  Think about it.  I’ll be back.”

I close my eyes and open them again.  The chair I’m sitting in is now on the beach.  About five feet in front of me, sticking up out of the sand, is the shard from the broken plate.

I wonder how long this will take.

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