Craig bumbled his way into work. He walked into a doorframe and bounced off the walls on his way to his cubicle.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Mindy, his cubicle neighbour.
Craig dropped into his chair. “I’m not sleeping very well. I keep having the strangest dreams.”
“Are they the kind you can remember?”
“Vividly. Last night I dreamed I was at a Cuban resort. It was raining. Someone told me it would only last thirty minutes, so I decided to use the time to write a magazine article.”
“That’s not so bad,” said Mindy.
“Yeah? Well, I went to the lobby, looking for a place to write. I bumped into former US president Jimmy Carter with his wife Rosalyn. Right beside me was a really old women I somehow recognized as Jimmy Carter’s mom. Off in the distance former president Ronald Reagan was reading a newspaper,” explained Craig.
“What about Fidel Castro and Che Guevara? I bet they’d all get along great together,” quipped Mindy.
“No. Look, it’s my dream. Anyway, Jimmy Carter’s daughter or granddaughter dropped of her baby and left. Jimmy Carter brought the baby over to his mom and she changed the baby’s diaper.”
“Is the baby going to turn into some sort of zombie?”
“No. Listen. Jimmy Carter’s mom handed me a poopy diaper. It looked like gritty mustard, It was so gross. You know the panhandler who hangs out by the front of the building? He was there with me. We looked at each other trying to figure out what to do with this diaper,” said Craig.
Mindy was now listening intently. “Then what happened?”
“I woke up.”
“Yep. What do you think it means?”
“That depends,” mused Mindy.
“Did you eat anything right before bed?”
“Have a headache?”
“Take any drugs, legal or otherwise?”
“Huh,” grunted Mindy.
“Your dream means you are going to die alone.”
“What? How do you get that from my dream?”
Mindy smiled. “Well, after I tell all the women I know how crazy you are, no one will even touch you.”