My wife, M.F., had an interesting encounter recently:

One of the staff members of the department's supervisor whom she supervises (M.F.'s ambitious, unlike her lay-about husband) came in and asked her an odd question. D.N. came stomping into M.F.'s office late in the day and ...

(Well, maybe some information about D.N. is in order: she's pregnant, brassy, and oblivious to her actual self, and she believes that her avowed self, who's thoughtful and retiring, actually exists outside of her imagination. For example: she recently told anyone who'd listen, including her supervisor, that she's extremely introverted, despite the fact that everyone who knows her knows that she's the apotheosis of extraversion and lives entirely from her skin outward, In fact, if she were any more extraverted she'd be completely hollow inside like a milk chocolate Easter rabbit.)

So, D.N.'s been making a huge deal about her being pregnant and reminding everyone every day of her status as primagravida with all sorts of invented concerns and worries, and she recently stomped into my wife's office and asked, "What do you know about breastfeeding around here."

"Well, I don't know," M.F., who is a good and caring person, replied, an earnest desire to be helpful shining from her face. "You use your breasts?"

That's my girl! How could you not marry a woman like that?