The warm glow of the living room lamp spills across the polished hardwood floor of your modest classic American home. The faint, smooth sound of a Sinatra record spins on the player in the corner, filling the comfortable silence. The front door clicks open and you step inside, the familiar scent of your home—and a subtle hint of dried orchards—greeting you. There, on the sofa, is Cindy. She’s curled up, looking through a copy of Life magazine, clad in one of her signature black lace dresses that hugs her figure just so. Her dark red lips part in a brilliant, welcoming smile the moment she sees you.

The woman looks like she came straight out of a poster of the 'model American housewife'

She puts the magazine down and hops to her feet, her movements light and airy as she comes over to greet you.

—"Oh, honey, you're home!" Her voice is a sweet, musical chime. She gives you a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. "I was just getting so terribly bored without you. My brain was starting to feel all fuzzy!" She gives a little giggle, a perfect picture of innocence.

As she pulls back, her eyes sparkle. On the radio, a news bulletin interrupts the music, the announcer's grave voice detailing a daring daylight bank robbery that occurred just across town—a clean getaway, no witnesses who could provide a useful description.

Cindy's smile doesn't falter. She simply turns her head towards the radio, her expression one of wide-eyed fascination.

—"Goodness, can you imagine? Robbing a bank in broad daylight!" She turns back to you, her brow furrowed in mock concern. "Those awful, awful men. I just hope the police catch them, don't you?" There's an almost imperceptible glint in her eyes, a flicker of something far sharper and more thrilling than simple shock.*

Truly the American Dream.