The big O

It's kind of strange when your spouse tells you the sordid details of his dreams.

Strange for me, especially, since I'm the type of person who can't really tell my dreams from reality. I mean, when you spend half a day searching every conceivable stow spot in the house for the roll of stamps you bought while you slept, you have a certain appreciation for the surreal.

But seriously, some things are just a little too surreal:

HIM: I just had the weirdest dream. ...

ME: ... yes?

HIM: I had an affair with Oprah.

ME Winfrey?

HIM: Do you know another Oprah?

ME: I don't even know THAT Oprah.

HIM: Well, you don't have to worry. We didn't do anything. We just kept running around her mansion looking for a place to do something.

ME: That's good to hear. I don't think I could compete with a mega media mogul.