Wonder if I dread holiday cooking? Those of you who know Sammy and me will get a kick out of this. I made casseroles one night over holiday and planned to cook them next morning before the family arrived.
Therefore, this dream.
We were in my home town of about 2500 people and I was supposed to have casseroles cooked for the community at 12:00 at the courthouse. I had lost Sammy. When I found him, he was entertaining a group of people, one of whom said, “You sure have a nice husband.” I agreed but said I needed him to take me to the courthouse quickly. He nicely got up and started down the street with me, strolling along like the Englishman he is, greeting everyone and passing the time of day. I’m nearly dragging him along. After walking several blocks with my grouchiness and his cheerfulness we finally found the van parked in someone’s garage. I hop in and shut the door quickly; he notices a street sign that is wobbly so he asks folks nearby if they have a screwdriver and tells them he can fix the sign. Someone offers a screwdriver and he tightens the sign before getting in the van. I’m steaming and the conversation is rather unbecoming of me. We do get to the courthouse in time, and someone else has put the casseroles in the oven.
All’s well that ends well. I’ll keep Sammy.