In the kitchen this morning, The PhD at the table. All I see is bowl, spoon, droopy eyes, a drop of milk on the chin. I make a bit of small talk and he looks at me as if I'm from Mars.
Me: Why are you looking at me like that?
The PhD: I'm trying to figure out if this is a dream.
Me: No, you're not dreaming. You're awake. Unless you want to get all existential about it.
The PhD: Huh?
Me: Shakespeare said all the world's a stage and we're just players. We could just be going about playing our parts right now.
The PhD: [Blink. Blink.]
Me: Do you want me to stop talking?
The PhD: [Blink.]
He wipes the milk from his chin.