Delia is hiding in the bathroom, after her weasel boyfriend broke up with her at their anniversary dinner. She's wondering why the "What Ifs"--her constant internal companions, also known as Worry, Dread, and Fear--didn't pick up on this potential disaster before it happened.
"How come the bad sex this morning didn't put you guys on high alert?" I growled.
In the next instant I heard a supersonic flush, and a puzzled matron with stiff blue hair waddled toward me from the very last stall, gazing at me with undeniable concern.
I tilted my head and put my hand on my ear, as if my Bluetooth were in place. "I can't hear you very well right now, so I'll have to call you back later, okay?"
The woman smiled at me, visibly relieved that I wasn't a crazy person, talking to myself.
No, I was just a crazy person, talking to my overactive anxieties instead.