Catherine is upstairs. She yells down to me; I’m sitting in the living room.

“Can you bring me my light saber?” she asks.

“What!?” I reply, wondering if she is delirious and channeling Princess Leia.

“In my purse…,” she replies.

The noise of the air conditioner is muffling her voice, so it’s possible I’m not hearing her clearly.

I walk upstairs to the bedroom.

“Why do you want a light saber?” I ask, trying not to appear judgmental.

“My lifesavers! The buttered rum lifesavers from my purse,” she pleads, with a hint of annoyance tempered by her cheery good nature.

Upon reflection, lifesavers made more sense.