[ WP ] One day at work , a coworker jokingly shouts : `` If you love [ name of home state ] so much , then why do n't you go marry it ? '' You laughed and responded : `` Yeah , I wish ! '' The next morning , you wake up married to a personification of your home state .

`` 8:00 in the morning, and I could feel a soft warmth pressed up against me in my bed. Instinct takes over as anxiety ignites my body into a sudden violent spasm of fear, throwing myself off my bed, hitting the floor with a hard thud. Sweat covers my palms as my heart races and all of my internal alarms are ablaze as I see my unexpected guest jolts up, as if they were surprised.'' 
 
 `` BABY -- What the fuck?!'' she shouts with a sharp, high pitched voice. 
 
 My unexpected bedguest is a pale woman, with eyes a pale -- almost grey -- blue, curly reddish brown hair with thick locks. Freckles dot rosy red cheeks on a round face with bushy eyebrows. My rather unmanly screech of alarm has set her own anxiety a flare, as she looks back at me in concern. 
 
 Who is this fucking woman and why is she in my God damn bed? 
 
 `` Baby, what the fuck's the matter?! Are you o --'' 
 `` Who the *fuck* are you? What the f --'' 
 `` Dave, what's wrong with you? Why the fuck are you acting like this? You're fucking scaring me.'' 
 `` *You're* fucking scared? YOU?! What the **FUCK**?!'' 
 
 She pauses at me shocked and stares at me. I ca n't tell whether those eyes are projecting fear for herself or concern for me. 
 
 She lowers her voice and maintains eye-contact, as if I were some frightened animal in her space, or as if I were somebody having an episode in a mental health facility. 
 
 `` Baby'', she says calmly. `` It's me... just me. You know, you're *wife*. It's just me, Ohio.'' 
 
 Ohio? *Ohio*? Why in God's name is there a naked woman in **my** bed? Why is she calling herself my fucking wife? Why the fuck is she named after my home state? 
 
 She does n't break her gaze away from me, and I'm still there, on the fucking floor, sweat escaping out of my orifices, heart pounding, and breath weezing. 
 
 `` Baby,'' she tells me again, reassuringly, `` It's okay... just... let me go downstairs and get your meds. Let me guess, you did n't take your meds for your anxiety again... right?'' 
 `` Just... calm down and come back into bed. I'm just going to head in the bathroom and get them for you. Just... chill the fuck out, alright?'' 
 
 I swallow hard, a really loud gulp, and nod my head quietly. That much sounded familiar; I do have a perscription for my anxiety. How the fuck did she know that? I shift myself on the floor, waiting for my heart to slow down. 
 
 Ohio, or whatever the fuck her name is, gets out of bed and softly tells me it's going to be okay. This short, curvy woman with a fairly flat chest steps out of my -- or our -- bed, and as I notice her walk on the door, I notice a tattoo above her buttcrack. I squint to make it out, and it dawns on me that this woman claming to be my wife, who slept in my bed, has a tattoo of the logo for the Ohio State Buckeyes, a scarlet and grey geometric O shape. 
 
 She exits the room, and I hear her soft footsteps go down the hardwood floor of the hall and head into the bathroom. I force myself to lay back down, and things in my environment are clearly out of fucking place. None of these things belong to me. My plain black comforter has been replaced by a Cleveland Browns one, there are posters on my white wall of the Cincinnati Bengals, and as I get up and brush aside the sliding door of my bedroom closet: nothing but woman's sized Ohio State Buckeye football jerseys. 
 
 So started the first day of my new life -- fucking great.
