Prepare to fall to your knees and let your grateful tears nourish the Earth mother below you, because this woman has Advil in her purse.
Oh, light! Oh blinding light of all that is precious and pure in a world of corruption and misery. Cast down upon me, overtake me, and let me become one with the power of she who carries a fast-acting anti-inflammatory in her bag just in case.
“Yeah, I had a really bad headache earlier,” says the wretched, the cursed and humbled servant, Audrey Lanza. “I asked my friends if they had Advil and no one did, but then this woman next to us was like, ‘I might have some,’ and she did.”
“It was pretty awesome,” adds the miscreant who deserves nothing but was given everything by the omnibenevolent She God. “I feel better now. Such a lifesaver.”
Oh! Saintly stranger! Are you skin and blood or heavenly illusion? A composite mirage of all qualities too perfect for the scorched Earth of the Lord’s insolent children?
Let us kiss your feet that they may cleanse our lips.
How may we extract your repayment? How may we make the world more alike to the air of your halo, oh ibuprofen-stocked deity?
Shall we sacrifice the groveling meager Audrey, and let blood feed the soil that mere tears have left parched and starving?
“Whoa, what?” says Audrey.
We’ll do it. We’ll really do it, drugstore painkiller Lordess. Deliver the utterance.
“It’s all good!” says She. “I always carry Advil. I have some extra tampons in here too, if you need one. And some mints.”
OH MARVELOUS IS HER WORD!
