The tentacle was gone.
"Thank God!" I breathed, and for an instant my common sense tried to insist that I had merely fallen asleep for a few minutes and dreamed the whole fantastic sequence.
But no! Why would I be stark naked? And why were my clothes lying ruined in my chair like bandages split with a huge razor?
I clenched my left fist and gained comfort from the reassuring pressure of four fingers and a thumb in my palm. But then I stepped into my bedroom and stood before my full-length mirror—where I have stood rooted ever since.
And the question revolves in my brain, punctuated only by my profanity and sobs of despair. How can I marry Betty now? How can I face her, let alone marry her?
What woman on earth could bring herself to marry a man with no navel ... and two heads?