Everything was in black and white. In a showroom, I shared a table with Groucho Marx. Drinks in wine glasses littered our table. A cigarette tray with a burning cigar was between us as I shared a smoke with him. A smile came out from under his grease-paint mustache as he laughed while he rambled on and on.

I went upstairs to my small apartment. I looked in the mirror hanging beside my front door to see I was wearing a typical low-cut, cinched-at-the-waist dress with my curls in an up-do. I stood there in amazement. I was actually living in a Marx brothers movie. I looked at my hand. There was an engagement ring on my finger. My mouth dropped as I stared in awe, getting butterflies as I remembered I was engaged to Cary Grant.

I never wanted to leave this life. I didn’t want to go back home. I wanted to stay here.

Somehow I knew this was all just some marvelous dream, but I didn’t have the realization that none of this would be real when I woke up.

Just as I was about to leave to see if I could find Harpo or Zeppo (god, how I would’ve loved to be able to tell everyone back at home that I had met the lovable Groucho, the adorable Harpo, and the gorgeous Zeppo), there was a knock at my door. I swung it open to find a young Jack Lemmon; his lips pursed, his eyebrows furrowed together, and his eyes narrowed. He stormed in, yelling in anger that I hadn’t realized he had feelings for me.

It was nighttime. My surroundings were now in color. I was in a huge, one-story house. Katherine Heigl and I were running from Ben Affleck who was my husband. Ben was pissed off that he’d been watching my movie only to find out I had been cheating on him with Cary Grant, and jealous that he’d seen me with Jack Lemmon. Apparently as I was living it, simultaneously it was being shown on television in this decade. Katherine and I made it to the front door. As I quickly reached for the handle, something heavy hit my head. I fell to the ground. The camera zoomed out and I could see Katherine and I laying on the floor, our hair soaked in our own blood. Ben Affleck stood over us, breathing heavily with a grimace on his face, holding a small, blood-stained decorative sculpture in hand.