Look at it. It’s beautiful. It’s glorious. I covet it despite the fact that it’s mine.
It is so precious to me that I’m going to booby-trap my home like an ancient South American temple — lest that sneaky Indiana Jones try and abscond with it. It also explains why I’m running around my home in only a loincloth, shouting a strange language and shooting poison darts at any newcomers.
I’m glad we had this talk.