Getting ready for work this morning, and my husband mentions
that he had a terrible dream last night.
Him: “It’s one of
those that wake you up out of a dead sleep, and you are practically
hyperventilating because you are so freaked?”
I’ve had those. I
hate those. Usually my dreams are of the
la-la- loopsy variety… you know, they are
difficult to explain, but seem perfectly logical at the time?
The dreams that I try to tell to Phil, only to have him say really
supportive things like, “Wow, a psychiatrist would have a field day with that
one.”
But because I know freaky dreams, I was far more supportive
and fabulous, and just nodded and said gently… “I hate those. Was it about the kids?”
Him: “No.
Me: “Oh. Well, then was it about me?”
Him: “No.”
Me: “Were there
velociraptors in it?”
Him: “No!”
So, let’s just say that I’m starting to feel a little less supportive. Because really, if you are going to have a
terrifying dream, I’d like to think that it might POSSIBLY involve something
happening to the person you are planning to spend your golden years with, or at
least feature a scary dinosaur with razor sharp claws. Otherwise, I’m failing to see what the problem is.
Me: “Well, what was
it?”
Him: “I dreamt that I
was in the kitchen talking to you (so
clearly I did make it into the dream) and I felt something drip onto my arm.
Me: “Ew.”
Him: “And then I felt
another drip… and I looked up and there was a huge puddle of water gathering onto the
ceiling from a leak upstairs, and it was starting to drip… drip…drip… And then by the time I got to the stairs,
water was flooding through the playroom, and starting to pour down the stairs!”
I may or may not have screamed when he got to this point. I’m admitting nothing. But after dealing with water damage in our house this
spring, and all the chaos that went with it, I can see how this would now
qualify as a ‘horrifying’ dream for my husband.
Even without the velociraptors.
