Insomnia

I've got it all planned out.  Sting will pull me up on stage having randomly picked me from all the other front-center female concert goers to sing me a ballad.  Would Sting be this cheesy?  Probably not. And I'd be way to mortified to utter a word should that ever happen.  Anyway, that's not the point.  The point is I would say to him "We share the same last name."
Sting:  Blinks at me
Me:  Well, it's not really mine, actually.  My husband lent it to me.
Sting: Were you in need of one?
Me: Are you condemning changing one's name...Sting?
Sting: (smiles at my razor-sharp wit) Is your husband's family from England? Perhaps we're long lost cousins.
Me:  Not recently, but yes. In the 18th century.
Sting:  How fascinating.  Will you both come be my guests at my huge and lovely private residence?  You can stay as long as you'd like.  Please???  You're such an interesting person.  You simply must come.
Me:  Well, if you insist.
Sting: I do....I'll even pay for your plane tickets.
The music starts, his mic turns back on, and the crowd roars.

You'd think with an imagination that dull, I'd be asleep in no time....maybe if I read it aloud to myself a couple of times.