Somewhere, out on the streets where he’s walking the dog at this very moment, Wes is shuddering and dying a little on the inside. The reason? He’s just found out that he can get in trouble for things he didn’t even do. Things I’ve imagined him doing. Things he had nothing to do with.
Let me explain: I had a dream last night that Wes and I were driving in Colorado and, despite my admonitions to drive slower, he sped through a snowy curve and wrecked us right into a snowy ditch. I was really mad at him in the dream, especially when he told me that we were going to have to walk through the snow. I had this dream right before waking and when the alarm went off I woke up still mad at Wes for wrecking our imaginary car.
It’s like I woke up with an emotional hang-over and there was no hair of the dog to salve my angry head. Poor Wes, by the time we figured out why I was in such a snappy mood I’d already given him more than a few reasons to regret promising to spend the rest of his life with me.
Let’s hope this isn’t contagious because truly, the world is in a whole heap of trouble if every person in the world has the opportunity to get mad at their spouse for dreamed offenses. I don’t think that Nestle, Hershey, and Godiva combined could supply restitution for all the imaginary ills that could sweep the globe.
The only question I have, however, is this: Why, when I had every car in my subconscious to choose from, were we driving a Mazda in my dream? Why not a Maserati? I can’t believe that, given unlimited choices, my sleeping brain chose a seafoam green Mazda sedan. Honestly, if that doesn’t expose me for the fuddy duddy I am, I don’t know what will.