And there I was, zirconia-studded. God’s favorite malpractitioner. Newly-minted mother of three. A gabapentin prescription, in lieu of enlightenment.

The doctors said I talked too much. And I said, I want my children to grow up among the garrulous.

Three might be too many. Some days I swear they’re interchangeable. I tell them apart by their responses to possible threats. A finger snap in front of their faces. The first one coos bashfully. The second one pouts. The third one doesn’t respond at all. Their eyes: a rear-view mirror. My body: beset with yeasts, due to an excess of sugar. After they made me quit smoking I developed a cruffin addiction.

The dog in me has a tooth for treats. Exacerbates the dormant animal. The one in my chest. I don’t have sex. I claw at the walls and call it a day.

My last day in the outside world, I worked a shift job. They didn’t let me wear the clothes I liked. They wanted me pure. They wanted me chapsticked. I reluctantly abided this erasure. I was in my element to grovel and complain. But under my clothes, I wore a G-string encrusted with plastic jewels. The texture of the stones showed through my khakis. This was my malicious compliance.