‘Well. Now that I finally know what kind of a man…well, what kind of a something…I married, things are going to change around here. A lot. Come ...n. We’re going to your…boudoir.’ Boudoir…? Somehow, during that one day, she had managed a complete transformation of my bedroom. The orange cafe curtains were gone, and in their place she had hung pink curtains with a pattern of little ballerinas in blue. At the top of each window there was a ruffled valence in the same fabric. The bedspread was in. Of course, that's not what happened. Somehow, a sizable mutation in the copy -- preserving the original checksum! -- had changed my backup's perception of herself. She didn't believe she was me, she believed she was superior to me. And while I slept, for pleasure, longer than my enhanced mind needed, she set out to prove it by assimilating all the knowledge she could. I'm not sure how she managed the mindsize -- copies of herself? Regardless, she'd locked me out of everything, and put a bunch. More

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