Sometimes, Dreams Can Be Cruel
It was my last dream of the night, so I recall it pretty well. See, Shiloh (our attention-deficit disordered German shepherd) had just “wurfed” from her “Doggy Gitmo” in the kitchen. Then she escalated into a full “BARK!” which means, “Hey! I wanna get out of here! I’m awake! You should be too!”
Gail got up and tended to the annoying shepherd, and I went back to sleep.
In this dream, Gail and I were visiting my son, Peter, and his wife, Janet, who — for some reason — lived in my hometown in Iowa instead of Oregon. We were either staying in someone’s house or a really, really nasty hotel because there was broken junk and busted toys and all kinds of crud on the floor. And we had to share a bathroom with other people in the place.
Gail had gone to take a shower, and I was in the process of catching some of the bugs that were swarming around. Some were tiny moths, some were long, skinny wasps.
As Gail finished her shower, I decided that we should go out to one of the restaurants on Main Avenue to get some breakfast because the kids wouldn’t be up until at least noon.
Gail got back from her shower and I showed her one of the wasps and she said, “Are you sure that’s not an ant?” I asked her how many ants she ever saw that were three inches long, with wings and a stinger.
She sat on the floor and started drying her hair. I noticed that she was wearing a nightshirt and nothing else. When she finished I helped her to her feet and kissed her. She had a look on her face like she approved of the direction this sequence of events was taking. I slipped her night shirt off of one of her shoulders, and…