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“Well, tell your judgment center to use a little sense,” I snapped. “I don’t want it to happen again.”

The next night, I stayed home, even though it was Tuesday night. I was beginning to get worried. Of course, I did have complete control—I could snap George Prime off any time I wanted, or even take him in for a complete recircuiting—but it seemed a pity. He was doing such a nice job.

Marge was docile as a kitten, even more so than before. She sympathized with my hard day at the office and agreed heartily that the boss, despite all appearances, was in reality a jabbering idiot. After dinner, I suggested a movie, but Marge gave me an odd sort of look and said she thought it would be much nicer to spend the evening at home by the fire.

I’d just gotten settled with the paper when she came into the living room and sat down beside me. She was wearing some sort of filmy affair I’d never laid eyes on before, and I caught a whiff of my favorite perfume.

“Georgie?” she said.

“Uh?”

“Do you still love me?”