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From a throne of medical status (which I greatly admire), she fires garbage shots that discredit my standing as a man of incipient merit, chalking on a board a horde of her own credits for professional conduct. Gone are my vanities, tipped out on the floor (like a sordid basket of soiled underwear), there to be studied by the dinner table's company - a rum lot, including malicious friends. To defend myself against her degrading comment (vomited over my image with her cool glee), would be a prolongation of psychic discomfiture, numbing my dignity while stoking the fires of dissent.      She thinks she's got me labelled on a slide,      but more than that lies bottled up inside!