I think I'd take that bet.
If there's a book in her house, it would be several feet down in the accumulated garbage and filth she's hoarded, probably underneath a layer of dead cats.
And it wouldn't be a biography of King George III.
Well, okay, maybe she saw something on that History channel on television.
The deal about hypochondriacs is that they're very susceptible to suggestion.
During the heyday of the
Reader's Digest, say circa 1950-1970, when that publication was inventing a new disease or affliction each month, at least in small towns hospitals, clinics, and physicians noticed an uptick in patient complaints corresponding with what that magazine had described that month.
My late oldest sister, God rest her soul, was a hypochondriac, and eerily at least physically the mopinko primitive's a carbon copy of her, minus of course mopinko's body-mutilating tattoos and pierced ears. Other than that, they could've almost been twins.
