Myra was already at the table, sipping her morning coffee when Alistair arrived in the kitchen. Her glare followed him as he crossed the kitchen to the fridge.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, you know,” she said.
Alistair froze. His mind raced through the past few days to discover what he might’ve done wrong.
“I don’t,” he confessed.
“Well,” she said shortly. “In my dream last night you were horrible.”
“Hold the phone,” Alistair protested. “You can’t be mad at me for something I did in a dream. That’s crazy.”
Myra’s eyes flared. “Are you calling me crazy?”
“No. What? No. I’m saying you can’t blame me for something I did in your dream. It wasn’t real.”
“It seemed real,” Myra said warily, “and I wonder if it’s a warning about something you’re going to do.”
“What did I do?”
“Well,” she said before taking a sip of coffee. “In my dream we owned a store. I’m not sure what kind it was, but it was weird. Anyway, you smeared purple play-dough all through my hair telling me you preferred it that color. My hair turned out to be a wig that you pulled off my head and put on the skill of a rhesus monkey. You danced around the store with the monkey skull humming ‘Here Comes the Bride’.
“A beautiful mortician came in the store and you asked her to marry you. You said the monkey skull could perform the ceremony because the wig and purple play-dough made it legal. When the beautiful mortician said, ‘no’, you cried. That’s when I woke up.
“You’d cry for her, but you wouldn’t for me,” she said angrily.
Alistair was stunned. He hadn’t drank enough coffee to face this crisis.
“I promise, you can make me cry whenever you want. Once,” he eventually said.
Myra brightened up. “Just don’t be surprised if I come home with purple hair,” she said with a smirk.
“That would certainly make me cry,” said Alistair as he kissed her good morning.