Get the Paper

You head towards the front door and make your way out of the house dressed in only your gown, boxers, and boner.

You step out onto the lawn, shading your eyes from the bright afternoon sun. You reach the front gate wherein the Sunday paper is stashed - paper boys can't manage to get it over the wall - before noticing your wife, Anne, crouched on the far side of the front garden. She's dressed in tight, short denim cut offs and a white shirt, trimming away at the hedges, unaware of your prescence.