Dr. Real walked with shaky steps into the office of Dr. Fact, and with trembling hands stood in front of his desk. Dr. Fact looked up and exclaimed, “Why Dr. Real, what is the matter? You look so upset.” “I am,” replied Dr. Real. “I have just come from Dr. Pearson’s office. I am sorry to say that her imaginitis virus has progressed to the quietis stage. She just sits there, hour after hour, saying nothing, with a happy expression on her face, as if she was looking at a dream of Paradise.’ “Oh, ” responded Dr. Fact, “this is terrible. To be on the verge of pure happiness, to be so unrealistic! We must do something, and very fast!” “Yes,” said Dr. Real. “I believe I have the solution. We’ll get hold of this poet who passed his imaginitis virus on to her, and have him sit down right in front of her, so that she can’t avoid seeing him. Then we’ll let reality do its work.” “Excellent, excellent!” said Dr. fact.
So, early the next day the poet, Brad Schneider, was brought in to Dr. Pearson’s office and was placed in a chair directly in front of Dr. Pearson and———–nothing happened! The two sick ones just stared at each other, their faces growing more radiant with each passing minute, becoming so unrealistically and impossibly happy that Dr. real and Dr. fact could no longer stand it and ran out into the hospital shouting, “Evacuate! Evacuate! Happiness is about to explode!”
Back in Dr. Pearson’s office two very real people sat looking at the fact of each other’s existence and said, softly and calmly, together, as though synchronized, three words: “I love you.”