Why is real life never so satisfying?

I was baking last night, I had nothing else for my brain to do, so I had some epic imaginary fights in my head.  To quote the sages at ONTD, I was spilling tea and throwing shade, and it was marvelous.  Sometimes in imaginary fights, the other person bests you at every turn and nothing goes right; last night did not go like that.  I was brilliant and perfect, my stingers perfectly timed, everything escalating into the absolute perfect hissy-fit you never manage to actually have.

Both imaginary fights involved the same person, which I'm assuming is a hint from my subconscious.  Whom in this instance I must picture as James Callis from Bridget Jones's Diary, standing at the side of a boxing match, holding onto the ropes, screaming, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

I wish.  I really do wish.