Sherry Lady is jealous of my skills. I've written a play and am being successful. She follows me around and watches what I do, wanting to be near me. I'm feeling pretty happy, and busy. I'm getting ready to go to a rehearsal or performance. I gather up a notebook I have and put in two of my favorite pens only to discover there are lots of pens in the notebook already. I remove three or four fat markers; most of the pens are black. Now it's time to go. I go find my "husband." He's filing things. I smile indulgently because my work is important, but his is more like a hobby. He buys Tupperware and sells it. He's unpacking boxes. I look in a box and see cute miniature boxes and glass jars that are pretty. I say to him, "I like Tupperware, but I hate the selling part." I also comment that I shouldn't take these cute things because even though I think they are pretty, I'll not be able to find any way to use them. I can't think of any tiny things I could put in them that would be useful to me. So we put my files and his boxes in the pickup truck and we drive away. I am driving. We have a hitchhiker and his belongings in the back of the truck, also. I see we're in trouble, the road abruptly ends, so I drive us over the edge to jump the chasm and successfully land on a grassy spot near the river. The hitchhiker's things end up falling in the river but my "husband's" things and mine are still safe in the truck. The hitchhiker is very mad at us. We dismiss his concerns as being unimportant. We feel sorry he lost his things, but we had done the best we could, so why is he mad at us? It wasn't our fault. We want to go get help, but don't want to leave the things unattended for fear he will take revenge and steal our things or ruin them. The women (two of us) go for help. The men (two) wait, guarding our things.