Irma Naggington lay snug under a heavy foam comforter, deep in a dream about living on a beach in Tahiti with a handsome stud of a man who ran around wearing a tight Speedo most of the time. She was slowly awakened by a man’s voice, saying, “Hey, Irma, wake up! Come on, open your eyes!” Irma opened her eyes halfway and said in a groggy voice, “Who’s there?” “It’s me, George!” Irma sat bolt upright in bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.