Panicking at what the other woman might do with the lamp in her possession, you clutch it tighter and practically yell, “I wish things were back to the way they were before I rubbed this lamp, with all my wishes canceled, with me as a regular person in my regular house with my regular family, and nothing Arabian!”
The world swirls around you, and when it clears, you realize you’re no longer holding the lamp, but you are back in a familiar-looking kitchen, looking down on a note on the counter that begins “Your mother and I have gone to Honolulu for our 2nd honeymoon.”