“Look out, iceberg! Hard to port, boson.”
All in vain. The iceberg scrapes along the side of the ship, tearing a jagged hole in her side.
“Abandon ship! All hands. She’s going down.”
I launch a lifeboat; there’s only one. Huge waves buffet it.
A giant jellyfish is swimming towards the stricken ship, its menacing tentacles threatening to sting the floundering sailor.
“Having fun, dear,” the wife says.
I glance sheepishly at the open bathroom door.
“All hands lost,” I say, pushing toy boat, soap dish and the wife’s weird sponge thing she uses under the bath bubbles.