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You forgot:
Rochel’s double. Snuck in after Rochel was given the vaccine which really did cause autism (and did not cure the shidduch crisis), and switched places with the real Rochel to pretend that it didn’t cause autism but did cure the shidduch crisis.
Is this the end?
‘Course not! So what do YOU think happens next? 🙂
big mama
Its only the beginning.
Oops Popa, you’re right. I forgot Rochel’s double. Sorry.
And now, for the last and final installment:
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Bereishis and Rivky went out 3 times. Rivky’s seminary teacher told her to say no because he didn’t have a kosher phone (in addition to his many non-kosher phones). However, it occurred to Rivky that Lauren would be perfect for Bereishis and she suggested it to Mrs. Norrisberg. And that is how Lauren Steinhardt became a Baalas Teshuva and married Bereishis Ben Avraham.
Lauren B.A. (of course, without the B.A., ch”v) decided to become a Bais Yaakov teacher, and quickly rose in the ranks to become the top substitute teacher in Bais Yaakov. She was really quite an amazing substitute. Everyone would try to guess which teacher was the substitute, and which was real, but they were never sure.
Meanwhile Eliyahu Rainden asked Mrs. Norrisberg to set him up with Rivky Schwartz. They dated and got married last December. Her parents, Shmuel and Chani, were absolutely delighted. Rivky recently had a boy, whom she named Reuven Chaim.
All the doubles and triples ended up marrying each other too. The subjects in the shidduch vaccine trials married working boys, but they were happy.
Everyone in the story had bracha and hatzlacha and nachas from their many children and parnasa and lived to see Moshiach. They thanked Hashem and were very happy.
The End.
HEY!
What was THAT for?!?
writersoul: Feel free to write an epilogue. Or start the sequel. 🙂
But it wasn’t the end.
The way the vaccine worked, was it caused you to clone a boy who would be right for you, and even out the imbalance (the boy was also autistic, obviously).
But rivky had forgotten to adjust the thergolometer when she was making it, and therefore had added too much theoglympton. The vaccine didn’t stop after one clone and kept popping out more and more.
Now there were clones and clones with no girls to marry. An angry mob of autistic clones wandered the beis medrash, living on thursday night cholent and scratching their armpits menacingly at anyone who tried to bum a cigarette. They kept their cellphones even in BMG, and wore white shirts in chofetz chaim. They loitered outside shadchanim’s houses, and also Deli 52, and also the pizza shops, and also the UN building though nobody knew why.
And then the clones started cloning. And the clone clones started cloning. The beis medrash spilled out onto the streets and it was like chavrusah tumult every day. Deli 52 spilled out onto its street and it was like kapparos every day. The chofetz chaim guys spilled out into Landers and it was like tuesday night every day. The shadchanim barricaded themselves into their homes and it was like tu-b’shvat every day.
And then the cry went up “rivky, rivky, it was rivky”. What was rivky? Who was rivky? Nobody knew, except for writersoul.
Where was Rivky? Rivky was busy in her new job on inshidduchim, answering the urgent top secret private questions of inshidduchim posters. Whether the question was “Should I date a smoker or a drinker?”, “Is rollerskating in Florida bad for shidduchim?”, “Am I an old maid yet?” or “Is it a red flag if he knows who Justin Bieber is?”, Rivky always knew just what to say in order to settle the girl’s nerves and get the situation under control.
Unbeknownst to Rivky, clones of autistic learning boys were desperately searching for her.
And unbenownst to the inshidduchim people, the clones had begun to infiltrate inshidduchim.
It began innocuously with them just asking if they should bring a purse on a date. But then more and more came, and began ongoing story after ongoing story, and scratched their armpits menacingly at anyone who asked if learning guys were good.
And unbeknownst to the clones, their time was running out. The shidduch crisis vaccine had to be modified to produce girls. But it was only able to produce girls up to 6 months older than the boys. So after 6 months, the girls would be the same age or younger than the boys, and the boys would be unable to marry the girls because of NASI age regulations.
Only Mrs. Rivky Rainden could stop this. And only Mrs. Norrisberg, the famous wannabe-turned-successful shadchan, could see the terrible future that awaited these boys if Rivky would not start working immediately. And only her husband Eliyahu could convince Rivky to leave her enjoyable job at inshidduchim.com and go back to working for the NSA.
And only Rivky could convince Mrs. Norrisberg, the famous wannabe-turned-successful shadchan to convince Eliyahu (currently living in a terminal in Moscow) to fly to Ecuador to convince Rivky.
Why were the Raindens in Ecuador? A side effect of one of her vaccine experiments was a thinness craving inversely related to the thinness of said autistic learning boys, which had affected Rivky’s husband. Eliyahu Rainden had also suffered severely from this craving prior to marriage, and was struck by a map of North and South America.
He saw that Canada looked extremely wide, as did the I-95 corridor all the way down to Florida, which was still too fat. As the bent logic of shidduchim guided him, he looked down and saw Mexico, where it kept getting narrower and narrower. All the way to the Yucatan!
Using his bent shidduchim compass to navigate, he immediately spied real narrowness, true narrowness, the exact narrowness he had been waiting for ever since he had entered the saga of shidduchim. Only in this setting could he properly appreciate his wife, who herself was, of course, narrower than narrow. Ecuador.
Meanwhile, the autistic boys continued searching for their wives. But Deli 52 and Landers and BMG and Chofetz Chaim and shadchanim had posted armed guards, declared martial law, and worst of all, banned posting on inshidduchim.com.
Nevertheless, the autistic boys all needed girls with the requisite amount of narrowness to satisfy their craving. And like Eliyahu, their shidduch compasses directed them to one place only: Ecuador.
The diplomat in Ecuador, named Sugi Hara, was put to work stamping shidduch visas 7 days a week (he was the Shabbos goy too). These visas were only good for stays for prospective shidduchim, with the intention of marrying with a badchan (to ensure religiosity in a non-discriminatory manner.)
Ecuador then enjoyed a construction boom, for lounges, with none of the expenses of having a luxury 4 star hotel attached.
But there were no Jewish girls in Ecuador for them to date. Just Rivky. And her husband Eliyahu.
Eliyahu was annoyed. He now had a minyan in Ecuador, which he had never dreamed of, every hour of the day. This was annoying because previously he had had more time to learn the Daf Yomi and Chumash Yomi and Halacha Yomi and Yerushalmi Yomi with more meforshim, since he davened conveniently. Now his dreams and his days and his nights were filled with the call, “Ah Tzenter!”
Rivky was also annoyed. Ecuador was supposed to be her escape from the world of shidduch crises. And after the 100th time her mild-mannered husband asked her, “Do you know any girls in Ecuador?”, she decided to call up Mrs. Norrisberg and find out if there were any single girls left in Brooklyn.
And then the cry went up “rivky, rivky, it was rivky”. What was rivky? Who was rivky? Nobody knew, except for writersoul.
Hey! Where is writersoul?
Hi!
I’m touched 🙂
I started something yesterday, actually (I just came back from a very long trip where I familiarized myself with many, many methods of the license plate game and have been unavailable for writing) but it didn’t really work out.
Trying again…
It took a while to cool off Mrs Norrisberg’s tirade of English, Hebrew, Yiddish and- wait, was that Arabic?- insults. Rivky held onto the phone, eyes closed and taking deeeep yoga breaths. She’d been nervous about the idea of calling Mrs Norrisberg- Rivky knew that she could only blame herself, and hadn’t wanted to hear all that blame come from someone else as well.
Especially not from someone with a quadrilingual command of invective…
Finally, when the noise from the earpiece seemed to be at a nominally healthy decibel level, she was able to give her plan, the plan she’d been working on for countless sleepless nights, to Mrs Norrisberg.
“So-“
“So you’re going to get your” (unintelligible Arabic word) “over here, get your job back at the NSA, and figure out some way to either clone some more girls or get these clones to stop reproducing! Right?”
“Um, no-” Rivky took another deep breath, but Mrs Norrisberg had relaunched. But this time Rivky was going to finally make herself heard, if it meant a couple more bags of those throat candies and a couple gallons of hot tea with honey at the end of it all.
“MRS NORRISBERG!”
A shocked silence on both ends- Rivky that she’d managed to scream loud enough to make her glass of water crack down the middle, and Mrs Norrisberg that someone had finally gotten her to shut up.
“Okay, Mrs Norrisberg, I know that you want Eli and I to go back to the US and for me to quit InShidduchim and go back to the NSA. But I can’t. His thinness radar would go completely off-kilter. Washington, and even New York, are right at one of the thickest parts of the whole United States. He’d go crazy. And I could obviously go back to work for the NSA, but I don’t think I should quit InShidduchim just yet. I’ve been working on a plan.”
“MMMmmmm.” Mrs Norrisberg sounded ticked, but there was maybe- well, POSSIBLY, if you imagined hard enough- a tiny smidge of curiosity in her tone.
“The plan involves the InShidduchim serial story.”
writersoul: sounds fun.
Rivky continued:
“At this point, it appears that the shidduch crisis has been decidedly reversed. Appearances, however, may be decieving. Indeed, they learn with hasmada and daven with a minyan. However, they aren’t forever learning boys, or even 6-year, 4-year, or 2-year learning boys. They are ‘learn until i get married’ boys, and they’ve told my husband that as soon as they marry a nice frum girl, they’re going to get an education and even a parnasa.
“This cannot go on. What about all the perfect idealistic beautiful skinny tznius chesedik geshikt girls on inshidduchim.com davening for a forever learner? What am I supposed to tell them? That the vaccine didn’t work? I can’t dash their hopes like that.
“Rather, we’re going to introduce a character named “Donny” into the story. Donny works from 9-5 at a demanding job, and also has a 3 hour seder every night, does Tikkun Chatzos, goes to the mikva before shacharis, and volunteers at an orphanage twice a week.
“Mrs. Norrisberg, you and I know that ‘Donny’s’ don’t exist. But through “Donny”, the girls on inshidduchim may come to consider these boys, who aren’t forever learners. This may be the catalyst to their engagements, and the fulfillment of their tefilos, hopes, and dreams.”
“But that doesn’t take care of ALL of the boys.” Mrs Norrisberg seemed desperate to pick as many holes as possible in the plan. “There are more boys than girls- what do we do with the extras?”
“Well, first, we need to give the clones my antidote to prevent them from keeping on cloning themselves. It’s getting out of control. But don’t you see? After that, it’s perfect! Those one in ten girls NASI talks about who will never get married- this is their chance! After that, all we need to do is make the age gap even GREATER. It’s not going to be enough to have all those sem girls getting engaged over Sukkos- we’ll just need to get all of those high school seniors into shidduchim, and those thousands of extra boys all have whom to marry!”
There was another- yes, ANOTHER, this was getting ridiculous- silence on the line.
Actually, it wasn’t a silence on the line, but twenty thousand alarm bells going off at the thought of writersoul going into shidduchim this year.
I need a drink. (VERY stiff.)
‘Bye.
As she was about to put down the phone she felt someone grab the receiver out of her hand. She turned around to see who it was and shrieked!
As it turns out, the Ami has been running a series on the new crisis, blaming Reuven’s Rosh Yeshiva. That all changed by the recent Letter To The Editor…
What was so scary about writesoul going into Shidduchim? Nobody knew it was a dark secret but writersoul was really an under agent for the Mafia!
Who knows what could happen to the poor girl on a date with him? This was to scary of a thought for her to think about and with that she fell face forward in a faint!
Unbeknownst to her parents, but very beknownst to the NSA, writersoul had an unusual background. Besides for being the first female undercover agent in the mafia, Hashem had decreed that writersoul be abducted from Earth by aliens from Blob at the age of 10. She returned just in time for her bas mitzva.
The Blobbian aliens were necessary to help writersoul develop her special abilities. She could finish Sefer Tehilim faster than a speeding bullet, do more chesed than Yosef HaTzaddik during the famine in Mitzrayim, and dress more tzniusdig than Sarah Schenirer.
But there was one thing writersoul couldn’t do. She couldn’t solve the shidduch crisis without Rivky’s help.
Writersoul didn’t have her dentist appointment for another half hour, so she decided to go log on for a bit to theyeshivaworld. She clicked on the serial story thread, waiting to see where the story had gone in her absence.
What she saw there made the very marrow freeze in her bones.
They were on to her!
Up til now, NOBODY had figured it out. Nobody. She’d been undercover for years and nobody had figured it out til now.
Okay, so they didn’t have the real picture. The Mafia had made her some offers, but she’d turned them down after a while. (And apparently that same poster thought she was a guy, so yeah.) And okay, so shed been with the Blob for a bit, but not for THAT long- it was just a stupid pre-teenage phase. Of course, it had left her with some very INTERESTING abilities, but still, the Blob had been ANNOYING. When everyone around you looks like jelly, you almost wish you were back in school where you belong.
ALMOST.
But now, writersoul had a new job and a new mission- with the NSA. Really, it had been Reuven’s idea. It was funny how stuff like that worked. He’d gone to yeshiva with writersoul’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s nephew and talked all about his sister’s cool undercover job, and, quite naturally and not yentaishly AT ALL, the news had traveled to writersoul, who heard this and wondered, is this my opportunity to truly transcend the eighth grade without resorting to either a life of crime or a life among Jell-O?
Two weeks later, as the rest of her class was on their senior trip, watching a movie about the Capitol building, writersoul had been secretly picked up and taken to NSA HQ, where she received her first job in their new genetics laboratory. And it had only escalated from there.
High school was cool. She always pretended she had fewer chesed hours than she did- didn’t want to freak ’em all out- and if she did read those Rashis a little bit too quickly, the teachers were always quicker to shep nachas than to wonder about it. But she always stayed focused on her real job- to figure out the genetics of the shidduch crisis.
(I bet you didn’t know that there WAS a genetic component to the shidduch crisis. But there is. And I’m not telling you what it is. Hush-hush.)
It was in the summer before twelfth grade that writersoul first encountered Rivky. It wasn’t face to face- it was simply writersoul trying to get Rivky off of her idea that high school seniors should get into shidduchim. She reasoned, she pleaded, she moaned, she begged. She even sent footage of her school’s seniors at lunch hour, and if that wouldn’t convince her NOTHING would.
But Rivky wouldn’t budge.
So writersoul, feeling defeated, went onto theyeshivaworld and became even more depressed, realizing that her cover wasn’t nearly as airtight as she and her handlers had thought it was- in fact, let’s face it, it was practically Swiss cheese.
But there was nothing she could do about it- she had her dentist appointment in ten minutes.
Shame the Blob hadn’t given her any anti-cavity powers.
Little did she know that her candy was doctored by the Taliban to cause cavities and send her to the dentist, who was employed by the Muslim Brotherhood, who installed bugs in her teeth.
(Not an installment, but seriously Torah, you just made my day. I always knew I didn’t like my dentist…)
🙂 🙂 🙂 🙂
Reuven sat back, yawning. He was tired – exhausted, even – after the three months of hard labour. His work had paid off.
With an evil grin, he looked at the sleek black orb suspended an inch off the floor directly in front of him.
He pushed the hidden button with pride, watching as the entire top of the sphere opened and folded itself away, and he
clambered into his machine. Immediately, it was as though he was transported into a different world – a world far more
advanced than anybodies dreams. Even though the entire sphere was only a metre wide, he seemed to be in a large room.
The room was surrounded by ceiling-to-floor windows, each panel displaying a different magnificent scene. Out of one
window was the breathtaking sight of Mt. Everest, it’s snow peaked top reaching to the sky like the mountain in Uncle
Moishy’s Har Sinai song. Another pane of glass showed the so-holy, so-pure scene of the Kosel, with hundreds of Women
for the Wall congregating. Reuven smirked and looked on.
A third pane of glass was flashing scenes – Germany 1949, Hiroshima during the Great Explosion, and now something that
reminded Reuven of a lesson he had had about the Tower of Babel in cheder. The good old days.
Reuven stepped over to a futuristic chair, and swivelled around. Here, he was in control. His fingers raced over
a holographic virtual keyboard, and the fourth window clouded over from it’s scene of The Vatican to display some long meaningless
code which flashed over the screen in an incredibly display of colour.
A map appeared; the laser pointer highlighted his destination with a loud beep. Machines were now emerging from hidden
cupboards, sliding out from panels all around him. Wires and cables were snaking around the room now, plugging into the
sockets placed strategically around the Control Centre.
The was a loud noise and then the windows all around flashed with colour. Reuven placed the headset over his ears, creasing
his brow and typing frantically on his keyboard.
A red light flashed from somewhere, and a siren went off. Footsteps were rushing… But it was almost too late. Reuven was ready
to go.
The door crashed open, and Shmuel hurtled through the doorway, hollering at the top of his lungs. He lunged forward, his
long arms just catching onto a handle as the top of the orb closed itself, sealing the passenger inside. A mechanical voice
announced something meaningless, and then the orb began vibrating with an intensity that Reuven had never felt…
And then he was off. All around him, things were a blur. Shadows were moving around him; strangely sinister voices whispering urgently in the cacopony of sound. He was riding through a maze of colour and ccfusion. All colours of the spectrum were glowing around him… Red, Blue, Green… now colours he had never seen before. Revuen was only
aware of his hands tightly clutching the controller, and the throbbing all around…
A manaical laughter filled the orb. His Time Machine was on the go…
(not an installment, but writersoul, pleasure)
Writersoul groaned as she shifted in her seat and reached groggily for the seatbelt. She grabbed her earbuds and rolled the cord around her iPod almost vindictively, as though she was trying to strangle it. She HATED airplanes.
This was the girl whose first reaction to landing on the holy soil of Eretz Yisrael had been to vomit. This was the girl who chewed four pieces of gum in a useless bid to keep her hears from popping as the plane took off. This was the girl who brought five vomit bags per flight, and dreaded sem year more for the twenty-four hours of flights it would entail than for the ten months of school in between.
And she’d been shunted off to Ecuador!
As the passengers disembarked, writersoul gripped her carryon bag, trying to somehow remain inconspicuous. Falling down in a dizzy faint is conspicuous. Yes, it is. Yes, even if you feel like you’re going to puke again. Remember that.
Now, she had to figure out where Rivky lived. Eliyahu Rainden was careful- he wasn’t going to let the NSA figure out his address. Writersoul would have to figure it out on her own.
Two hours later, she was walking up the stairwell of the Raindens’ building. Three months ago, it might have been hard to find them, but now, with all of the yeshiva bochurim who’d moved there, she’d just needed to stop off at one of Quito’s three takeout food stores (Thursday night cholent a specialty) to ask a passerby their address. A well-meaning shadchan, moved down to where the clients were, had tried to set her up with seven different guys (“You’ll only need a week!”) as she paid for her Coke (not diet, which had earned her a weird look from the shadchan, who then remembered that this was a girl’s market and the girl was about to walk away with her soda and change), but writersoul had managed to get out and, using her high school Spanish (“No comprendo Espanol. ?Comprende Ingles?”), got to the front door of Mishpachas Rainden.
She could hear a baby screaming inside and a woman walking. The baby’s decibel level went down a smidgen, and writersoul could hear the woman- must be Rivky- talking softly to the baby as he quieted down.
So this was Rivky. In person. The Rivky who had caused all of the trouble that the NSA had to deal with now. The Rivky who was on the rotten-egg-throwing list of every boy’s mother and shadchan in the tri-state area. The Rivky who hid out in Ecuador as the ramifications of her deed realized themselves.
The Rivky who, writersoul realized, was about to suffer a very, very big shock.
Writersoul almost felt sorry about what she had to do.
Writer Soul please don’t leave us hanging.
tzup: So what do YOU think happened? 🙂
I’m going to camp and when I get back I’ll be interested in seeing what has happened… you have all been warned.
Okay, popa, thanks for opening an old wound.
When you mentioned inshidduchim, I immediately remembered this thread. And immediately went to go check it out. And immediately became very, very sad.
It’s really not nice to make girls cry.
Anyhoo, I’m hoping that this story hasn’t run its course and that we can get it up and running again, just because I love it so much and there are loads of fantastic writers on here to make it awesome (enough soft soap yet? 🙂 ).
Whaddaya guys think?
And then Writersoul disappeared. Was she kidnapped by the mafia and sent to the Congo? Was it Reuven’s clone from the NSA?
Oops, never saw that last post from writersoul. Wonder what that was about.
I think for sure your daughter should get off of this website, who knows what junk is getting into her head!?! Do they know her?? Do the care about her??
The world to day.
Hey, where did my update go?
Rob appeared to all the world as an innocent dentist living in Ecuador. Only his wife knew that he was a double agent for the Taliban from the NSA. With the whir of his instruments drowning out any bugs, and the inducement of a minor toothache, spies felt comfortable telling him their secrets, which he then passed on to his superiors.
But his amnesia had started to recede, and every day he remembered more and more of his childhood. “Reuven! That’s my name!” he exclaimed one day over breakfast. His daughter Nili looked at him worriedly. “Dad, are you okay?” she asked.
Rob left his breakfast to get to his office early. And he told his receptionist to make an appointment with every Rivky in the telephone book. If there was any possibility of finding out what had happened to him, it lay with his scheming older sister.
Meanwhile, writersoul was face to face with Rivky.
Coincidentally, Rivky was also face to face with Writersoul.
Rivky paced back and forth across the room, stopping only to avoid bumping into her doubles and triples and quadruples who were all getting in one another’s way.
She furrowed her brow, and smiled a wrinkly smile, then made a wrinkly frown. Surely there was some way to make NASI pay for all the shidduchim she had made. Sure, the clones were only a few days old, but they appeared old, and she should get the bonus!!
So she quickly made a bunch of phony shidduch profiles and posted them online, then trolled Only Simchas and the YWN Simcha Section with a bunch of fake mazel tov announcements.
She made sure the pictures for the profiles were tznius (but she didn’t need to worry about that for OS).
Out of curiosity, I’ve checked out the forums on that website, and in many cases, it’s a fertile ground for rechilut and lashon hara.
And your post was….?
Writersoul only had time for a glance at Rivky’s shocked face when she saw stars. With a not so silent clunk (she’d been eating too much pizza lately) she was out cold.
When she came too, she looked around and realized that she’d been kidnapped by Reuven’s clone in conjunction with the Mafia.
She groaned. “Oh no, not you guys… and please don’t tell me we’re in the Congo.”
“No, writersoul,” came a new voice, all too familiar, all too fear-inducing. “You’re not in the Congo. You’re with me now.”
“NO! Not you! You don’t understand… you can’t make me do this… I don’t have time, it isn’t fair…”
“It’s not about fair,” said writersoul’s principal. “You are a student here, and I don’t care about your secret missions or the shidduch crisis. You’ve been neglecting your school work, and you need to finish it if you want to graduate in June.”
Writersoul is now holed up in a top-secret location, finishing a science report. When contacted by her case officer, notified about all of the cool missions she was missing in captivity, she groaned and took an Advil and a lot of chocolate.
She is now on carpal tunnel watch.
In the meanwhile, Rivky has just been photoshopping random photos of people from Google Images into the perfect shomer pose.
Rivky’s sister, who happened to be writersoul’s former principal’s assistant, assured her that she was going to continue to get A’s and should continue posting.
She had quietly watched the saga of the Schwartz family play out. What moved her to act at this critical juncture?
Only Mrs. Norrisberg knew why.
There already is a vaccine for the shidduch crisis. Its called Fen-Phen.
Epi-Epilogue
Rivky looked up suddenly from her slice of hot pizza with gooey cheese and warm sweet tomato sauce and a crispy yet chewy crust, and burst into tears.
Then, with the two required parts of every chapter of a frum serial* disposed of, she got back to the story. Wasn’t it possible, nay, probable that if the shidduch crisis vaccine was not working, it was because the shidduch crisis itself was caused by vaccines!
Thinking to herself, she muttered “if you would inject your baby with thimerosal, aluminum foil, smallpox viruses, and disodium EDTA you would be arrested, but the doctors put it all in a vaccine and now it’s perfectly safe?”
(*HT to someone else for their important work in identifying that)
Epipenologue:
She dipped a spoon into the split pea soup, and as she tasted the hot, nourishing, perfectly seasoned soup, her eyes filled with tears as it burned her tongue.
Book 2
Writer soul graduates from school and can now do the missions again. One problem is that she still has to continue with school. It seemed like an eternity. She looked at a older woman enviously. She grabbed a drink from Starbucks and headed out.
One thing Rivky forgot to take into account when she designed the vaccine. She only intended to collect the money from NASI, not make any real shidduchim. She didn’t realize that a mob of angry girls whose cloned husbands suddenly ceased to exist could cause her to go the same way. She heard the mob getting closer and closer. She hid in her coat closet. Rivky realized that the girls would open the coat closet first thing when they walked into her apartment, so she quickly and quietly crept out and hid in the cabinet under the sink. Don’t ask how she fit in- you do not want to know.
Meanwhile, as the girls were getting closer and closer, Rivky was getting wetter and wetter from the drip in the pipe. Soon she would be covered in disgusting dirty water. Her OCD was pressuring her to jump out and just face her fate with the girls. Her claustrophobia was trying to figure out which was worse- the pressure of the cabinet or the girls all around her. Her dementia was making her forget. Her schizophrenia was telling her that the cabinet walls are her safety protectors, and if she dare move them they will turn into slugs. Her paranoia was telling her that her schizophrenia was right.
Then the girls ceased to exist because the vaccine had a reaction.
But Rivky then fainted from the realization that she had lost track of Mohammed McDonald McVeigh. She was out cold for 12 hours.
When Rivky woke up, she could smell a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee sitting next to her.
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