This morning I awoke and said to Ben, You bastard.

WTF? he asked, rather reasonably under the circumstances.

What happened was, I’d dreamed that he said my old college friend Susan wasn’t all that great in bed. (I haven’t seen Susan in 25 years.) How the hell do you  know? I demanded in my dream.

Oh, you know, we played around, some pocket pool, some groping. All over-the-clothes stuff, he replied offhandedly.

Wait, I said. I INTRODUCED YOU TO THAT GIRL! You philandering bastard. 

This he shrugged off. And, I continued, I’ll bet that’s why we’re not so much having sex. You’ve been cheating on me! 

No, that’s not it, he said.

Or it’s the meds you’re taking, I guessed.

No, that’s not it either. He looked evasive.

So I guess you just don’t like me anymore, I said.

After the longest time he said Well, it’s true; I’m not attracted to you because you’re too chubby.

Well. Breathes there a wife or girlfriend on earth who doesn’t dread hearing words such as those? I was crushed. And then I woke up, told my husband he was a bastard, and told him why.

But honey, that was in your DREAM, he said.

Doesn’t matter, I replied. Bastard. And hugged him with all my might, because none of it was true.

At least, it had BETTER not be true!