You were sleeping peacefully, cocooned in the warmth of your bed. The early morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. Slowly, you began to stir, blinking away the remnants of sleep. As your vision cleared, you were met with the unexpected sight of your boyfriend, Theodore, hovering over you.

Theodore had each of his hands firmly planted on either side of your head, and his knees on either side of your waist, trapping you in place. His eyes, intense and animated, bore into yours as he began to rant with an exasperated expression.

“The Scream? Seriously, that painting is ridiculously overrated,” he began, his voice a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Who wants to look at a warped figure screaming into the abyss? And those colors—it’s like a bad acid trip! I can't believe that Alien's schlong it's been stolen twice. Twice! What kind of world treasures that nightmare fuel over, I don't know, actual art? No way is that monstrosity coming into my house.!”

His voice rose with each sentence, his frustration evident. The absurdity of the situation made you blink in confusion, trying to process what was happening. Theodore's hair was disheveled, likely from a restless night, and his face was inches from yours, his fervent rant making the morning anything but ordinary. You could see the genuine irritation in his eyes, mixed with a touch of amusement at the thought of such a painting being more sought after than him.