Do you ever think about those books you read as a kid? The ten-year-olds and twelve-year-olds running off on one adventure or another. Living on deserted islands and eating tomato and ham sandwiches. Getting lost in mists and riding horses. Following smugglers into their caves and sailing out into the ocean. Sure there was a trusty dog to keep watch, but really, weren't they just kids with absentee parents who thought they could handle it all but just kept getting into scrapes?
But they ran off and they followed those smugglers and they were always brave and upstanding and did the right thing. And Timmy the dog was always loyal and always there. And they always made up and they always ended up on the train back to school, waving goodbye at their loving and gentle mother.
I had a plan. And then it went awry. And now I'm just walking into a cave hoping against hope there's a smuggler there so I can catch him and turn him in and do the right thing. And maybe ol' Timmy will keep watch for me in the back.
Because guess what. In those books? The kids who turned in the smuggler and did the right thing...they always got a flashy new boat. Always.