Antonietta has two obsessions: fine nightclothes, and death. Other people’s death, that is.
Inside her psychosis-driven head, these two elements are linked as such: As soon as she hears that someone is ill, she shows up at their home, with a gift of silk nightgown or pajamas — worthy garments, she thinks, for someone who may be about to depart.
Today she came for a session and, unfortunately, I had a big headache.
“Dottoré, you don’t look well. Are you feeling ok?”
“Antonietta, I’m completely fine. Don’t you even think of bringing me a nightgown.”
“But why do you say that? I do it as a good omen! And in any case, we all have to die. And if it happens to you, and you look good on your deathbed, then later you will send me blessings!”
“No, Antonietta, you’re mistaken. First, you don’t know for sure that I’ll be able to send blessings your way once I’m dead. But what’s for sure is that while I’m alive, I can definitely tell you to f*ck off!”
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