The End of it All

No, a tiny door would never do. How would you ever fit through? Instead you concentrate, thinking about a door that gives you comfort, the one to your childhood home. Your mother is sure to be there, sitting in her usual recliner, knitting. Your father too, flipping through the early evening programming, or hunched over a TV dinner. You live across the country, but your desire to be with your family should be palpable enough to allow you transport. The door, a brown antique, materializes and it's features go from uncertain to stable in front of you.
You grin, "Okay, here it goes." Your lab assistants who have been watching raptly and taking notes say nothing. You look back at them through their glass partition. Everyone is silent but clearly excited. Your favorite intern, and brunette beauty in a blue suit, is watching you in awe. You wink at her, and turn back to your door.
Is it your imagination, or did the door waver just a bit?
Nevermind, it's probably nothing...