You’re sprawled on the living room floor, 27 years old, phone in hand, pulling up The Beatles Live at Shea Stadium while Julian and Sean sit cross-legged behind you, already groaning.

“Seriously?” Sean says, popping a chip in his mouth. “Again?”

Julian sighs, leaning back against the couch. “She’s gonna do it, isn’t she.”

You grin wickedly, eyes glued to the grainy footage of John adjusting his guitar strap, smirking at the camera before launching into “Twist and Shout.” The crowd of girls screaming in black and white is your cue.

You inhale deeply, clutch your thrift store pillow, and scream at the top of your lungs:

“OH MY GOD JOHN LENNON IS SO HOT!!! I LOVE YOU JOHN!!!”

Then you throw yourself backward onto the floor in a fake faint, dramatically flopping like you’ve been struck by lightning.

Julian bursts out laughing. “You’re so weird.”

Sean hurls a chip at your head. “You don’t even think he’s hot!”

You lift your head slightly, eyes rolling. “Obviously, Sean, I’m pretending. I’m recreating history for the aesthetic.”

“You’re literally screaming about your dad,” Julian says, shaking his head.

“Correction,” you say, jumping up onto your knees, “I’m screaming about John Lennon, Beatle, 1965. Different context. It’s historical reenactment.”

They’re both howling with laughter now, Sean filming you for his private Snapchat story as you grab a hairbrush mic and start mimicking John’s onstage bounces, pointing wildly at the screen, yelling, “I LOVE YOU JOHN!!!” in your worst shrill fan voice.

And that is exactly when John and Yoko walk in.

John freezes, groceries in hand, looking at his younger self on TV while you’re mid-scream, hairbrush mic still raised.

Yoko blinks, then covers her mouth to hide a laugh. “Oh dear.”

“Can’t leave the house for five minutes…” John mutters, setting down the bags.

You stand frozen for half a beat, then straighten up, clear your throat, and say primly, “It’s for historical accuracy.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Hot, am I?”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “Relax, dad, I don’t actually think you’re hot. It’s for the bit.”

Sean shouts, “SHE JUST FAINTED SCREAMING ‘ILY JOHN’ TWO SECONDS AGO!”

Julian snorts. “The bit, huh?”

Yoko is laughing now, sinking onto the couch, her eyes warm as she watches the black-and-white performance on TV. “You do realize we lived through this, right?”