A week into my new existence as a Jerry Springer cautionary tale, my younger sister, Alissa, came to visit. My parents had already dragged me to dinners and matinee movies. Alissa, however, is a wonderful nerd, an astrophysicist who likes video games and Dungeons & Dragons. She wanted to do an escape room — one of those self-described “immersive experiences,” which is apparently a way of saying, “We’re going to lock you in a themed room for 60 minutes to solve a series of escalating four-dimensional riddles.” I had always thought of escape rooms as exclusively designed for corporate bonding, the modern, no-touching-required version of an ad sales team doing trust falls. But apparently anyone can pay about 50 bucks to defeat the evil wizard Haladrax before his next dark scheme unfolds. For our morning, my sister had picked out a Mount Olympus-themed room. I don’t know how she persuaded me; maybe the naked sculptures of Zeus? Third trimester is when the horny hormones kick in.