Bridget darts into her bedroom and emerges about ten seconds later wearing the first shirt she grabbed.

"There, that's better," she says, and leans on the arm of her couch.

"So, I'm impervious to physical injury. I haven't always been. It started when I was a kid. You remember I told you my parents weren't funny? Well, my dad was the kind of not funny that lends itself to noticing when one day you can't get hurt anymore. I hope I don't have to draw you a picture."

She shrugs.

"Questions?"