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?”
Me: “Oh. Well, then was it about me?”
Me: “Were there velociraptors in it?”
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.
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.