“Congratulations, Mrs. Armstrong, you’re having twins.”

“Twins?”

“That’s right. Now if I could see you in about ten weeks?”

“What do you mean ‘twins’?”

“I mean two babies. We don’t know whether they’re fraternal or identical yet, but…”

“That’s wonderful, Margie!”

“Be quiet, Harold. I don’t see what’s so wonderful about twins. You see, Dr. Myers, I wanted multiples.”

Blurch the Earthworm spat out a mouthful of putrid soil. Although he badly wanted to scowl, he lacked the musculoskeletal qualities to do so.

Brittney went upstairs to ask her husband a question. She found him sitting on their bed and watching a football game on television. “Honey, how would you like to go to a movie tonight?”

“You know I don’t go to theaters!” Abraham Lincoln yelled.

Dr. Horton entered the room and took a deep breath. “There’s been a slight mix-up. We accidentally replaced some of your plasma with plasma.”

Brownell frowned. “I’m not following.”

Across the hall, nurses rushed into another room.

“You’re familiar with the plasma in your blood?” Dr. Horton said.

“Not really. I know there is such a thing.”

“Well, this plasma is different.”

“Different like it’s from a different person?”

“Different like it’s a completely different substance with the same name.”

Almost a year ago, my wife surprised me with a Fitbit for my birthday. Perhaps she had noticed me glancing at hers longingly, checking in on her weekly challenge stats, monitoring the rises and falls in her heart rate, or surreptitiously slipping it on late at night when she was in bed and had left it to charge. The power I felt when wearing it, if only for a few short minutes, was intoxicating. I, a mere mortal, could count my own steps and measure the pace of my heart!