This is a true story. Recently my sweet husband (SH) and I woke up as usual and had this conversation.
SH: Good morning, dear wifey.
Me: Morning, handsome.
SH: I had an awesome dream last night.
Me: Me, too! You first.
SH: We were at the bakery, and you were buying up everything you could possibly carry at once. There were glazed donuts and chocolate donuts and cupcakes with sprinkles and all sorts of bad-for-us stuff.
(I swear his eyes were positively sparkling at this point.)
SH continues: Then we went home and ate it all. Yeah, it was awesome. We should go to the bakery for real. Okay, your turn.
Me: My dream was about a sentient, tentacled, black blob-thing. Seriously, it looked like a giant octopus made out of vegemite and kinda oozy like it was half-melted. It was on the front lawn of a darling little cottage with yellow clapboard siding. The black tentacles reached for the house, probing the sides and poking the door and windows, trying to find a way in. As the tentacles explored the little house, the house bled, and the clapboard walls turned crimson.
(My sweet husband’s eyes were no longer sparkling. In fact, I think his upper lip had started to curl like lips do when they smell or taste something that’s gone bad.)
Me still talking: Yeah, it was awesome. I should write a story about it.
Feature image (altered) from Leighann Blackwood and Kris Mikael Krister on Unsplash.