“The duck’s head is on fire.”

“What?” I mumbled into my pillow.

The ominous voice repeated (with a noticeable hint of irritation), “The duck’s head is on fire!“

“Then put it out!” I retorted, and once again wrapped myself in sweet repose.

My college roommate, in case you couldn’t tell, had the amusing habit of talking in her sleep. If nothing else, it made for some delightfully absurd conversation in the wee hours of the morning.

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Women are vengeful creatures. This is a lesson I learned very early in life when I discovered that the most dangerous woman you shall ever know is your mother.

Perhaps at the beginning of time a bargain was struck with the Creator, and so, for woman’s vital role in the bringing forth of new life, she was bestowed with the Gift. Perhaps mothers, being sensitive and intuitive, have more developed psychic abilities. Or maybe motherhood simply cultivates an interest in voodoo. Whatever the source, I am quite certain that these women command a power that can only be described as the secular equivalent of godsmack. My own mother swells with this gift, as I learned one fateful day.

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