HIM: Wake up! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare.
ME: Oh it was terrible. I dreamt I ate wheat. French bread, slathered with butter!
ME: What are you laughing at? That’s not funny! You know I’m wheat free.
HIM: Your nightmares are always so ridiculous.
ME: They are not. They’re VERY REAL and VERY SCARY.
HIM: You ate French Bread with butter? Seriously, to quote you, “You’ve had worse things in your mouth”.
ME: (Pissed) Yeah, well I won’t anytime soon.
HIM: You have to admit over the years you’ve had some pretty funny nightmares.
ME: I have not.
HIM: There was the time you dreamt Divine won an Oscar, then your reoccurring nightmare that they took prescription diet pills off the market,
ME: That wasn’t my fault I was being over prescribed medications.
HIM: Yeah because you had 7 doctors and none of them could say no to you. You should all be in jail.
ME: You’re an asshole. YOU have ridiculous nightmares. Like that time you dreamt the sun wouldn’t stop shining and you were out of sunblock.
HIM: What about the time you dreamt you were a Navy Seal and you had to retrieve Diana Ross’s tiara and it got caught in some seaweed and Jaws ripped your weave out.
ME: What about the time you dreamt you were in the Aussie Surfing Championship and an Aborigine stole your long board.
HIM: What about the time you dreamt Little Richard bought all of the Mehron 7-C (my shade of foundation make-up) in Los Angeles.
ME: That happened. TWICE. That bitch!
HIM: What about when you dreamt Michigan cancelled their football program and turned the Big House into a women’s soccer stadium. You woke up screaming so loud cats lost control of their bowels on the next block.
ME: What about when you dreamt you were Czar of Russia and the peasants made you marry Madonna and make her Czarina instead of me?
HIM: That wasn’t a nightmare.