Late night at the office and by the time I get home my wife is already in bed. I put my ear to the door and slowly turn the doorknob, pretending that I'm a detective. I enter my apartment cautiously, keeping my back against the wall, miming that I'm holding a gun. I yell a random name.
“Mr. Pritchard? . . . Miles Pritchard this is the NYPD. . . . I need to have a word with you regarding Candice Flemming?”
This usually wakes my wife up. Her inquiries as to who I'm yelling about tend to end the charade.
A few minutes later I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth. I imagine my wife's activated some sort of Indiana Jones type booby trap in our bedroom and I have to save her. I pretend to hear my wife scream as she triggers the tripwire. I drop my toothbrush and run into the bedroom to find her nailed to the wall by some swinging wooden spike apparatus.
I yell “Noooooo!"
Her eyes are wide open with shock and she’s coughing up blood. I can sense she's fading fast so I clutch her face and tell her it's going to be OK. I tell her it was my fault for getting her into this mess and when we get out of here I'll take her on that cruise she's always wanted. With her last breath she grabs my collar and says “Finish the quest!” Then, as her final act, she reaches out her shaking hand to give me an ancient treasure map.
This also usually wakes my wife up. Her inquiries as to why I'm grabbing her head and sobbing typically bring me back to reality.
I then go to bed and dream about adventure.
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