Driving with one's teens in the car is an enlightening experience. My sons play some game where they call out car names and then punch each other. I have no idea what the purpose of this activity is, but I'm trusting that it's some kind of male bonding thing and that it's preparing them for stellar careers as video store employees.
My daughters, on the other hand, like to have meaningful conversation in the car. This means that I get to listen to them chatter about cute boys, clothes, cute boys who wear clothes, and uteruses.
Yeah. You read that right. And yes, there's a story coming.
Seems that FashionBug had become aware that some women are no longer the proud owners of a uterus. And it seems that this was true of the mom of FashionBug's best friend. So FB was sharing with her sister and me that friend's mom occasionally experienced PMS symptoms, even without the requisite organ.
Now, Princess Bunhead has a long history of being knowledgeable about uteruses. She also has a long history of coming out with those "it sounded right until I said it" proclamations. She's familiar with the phantom limb phenomenon, and figured it applied in this case, but as she explained it to her sister, she declared, "Oh, it's probably a ghost uterus."
I almost drove into a tree.
But, wait. There's more.
That night I watched one of the X-Men movies before I went to bed. Mistake.
I dreamed that I had special powers. I became the Mutant Ghost Uterus, with long, snake-like fallopian tubes, and I could reach way out and smack folks upside the head with my ovaries. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to meet myself in a dark alley.
I see a whole series of movies in my future, starting with "Scooby Doo and the Ghost Uterus."
Freddy Krueger has met his match.