When I rang my cousin John to congratulate him on getting his TV deal. I wished him well and expressed some disappointment that I was failing to let you know how stressful your 'hobby' was for me. He suggested that he could help, if I was prepared to seem in danger and arrange that you get involved. He called the illusion 'The Drowning Pool'; it took me some time to find it, 'coz there's a band called the same thing that gets the top hits when I searched on YouTube, but once I understood the concept it seemed like the only way to make you see how bad it makes me feel to be helpless while you escape."
"You're right!" I admitted, "I've been selfish in not considering how you feel when I do my thing. I'll give it up, if you ask me to."
"Before today I'd have said, 'Yes, please give up escapology.' But having been in the spotlight and properly the centre of attention, rather than just someone who came along with you. I have some idea of the buzz you get from it. I want to join you in escaping; you can train me. I'll probably never be as good as you, but together we could be better than anyone."
John interjected, "You are the best amateur I have ever seen."
"Do you really mean that?" I asked looking at Angie, she nodded. "You know I love you?" She nodded again; she seemed almost at the point of tears. "Angie, will you marry me?"
She closed the two paces between us, said, "Of course, I will, Brenda!" and we hugged until we were out of breath.