I slept peacefully in the antique bed that my wife, Elaine, made me buy off ebay. Suddenly, I was awakened by Elaine screaming, "You jerk! I can't believe you did that!"

Having been unconscious for at least six hours, I wasn't sure what she was talking about. Was she talking to me? Was she talking in her sleep?

Then I looked at her. She was sitting up and staring at me, shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

"You left me for your old girlfriend and told me she was better in bed!"

First, understand that we've been married over ten years. I don't even know where any of my old girlfriends are. Second, having just become conscience, I have no idea where this assault is coming from.

"Honey, I'm right here."

"But that's what you did in my dream," she said, starting to sob.

Aha! I did something in her dream. What the . . . ? She's blaming me for something that I did in her dream? This made no sense. Maybe she was still semi-conscious, so I would wake her slowly.

I rubbed her back. "Uhm, it was a dream honey. I didn't cause you to dream that, dear. It's your dream and I had nothing to do with it."

She clenched her fists. "Oh, shut up, you adulterous pervert! You had everything to do with it. I can't believe you did this to me. And Sydney. And Abby!" Sydney is our daughter. Abby is our cat.

I nixed the idea that she wasn't completely awake. Sleeping people don't use the word "adulterous."

"I didn't do this," I declared softly.

"Yes you did, you cheating man-whore!" She screamed this loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

Frustrated, I said, "I only did that in the dream that you made up."

"Aha! You admit it!" She crossed her arms and grinned, like she just caught me in a huge lie. Why was she so happy to pick this fight and try to win it?

I started to weigh my options. If I just rolled over and went back to sleep, she would continue yelling at me and pull out the "you don't care" card. She would also beat me to a pulp. If I tried to talk rationally to her, well . . . she wasn't rational. Somehow, the woman who I knew last night just lost 65 I.Q. points. If I slapped her like they used to do in the movies when someone was being irrational, I'd be hauled off by the cops, in divorce court, labeled a wife beater and only have supervised visitation rights (even with the dog). I had to think quickly.

"That's weird. I also had a dream that you left us for my old girlfriend," I said.

"What?"

"Yeah, you started a lesbian relationship with her and didn't care about us any more."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You aren't attracted to me, are you? You'd rather be with a woman." I turned away and did my best attempt at fake tears.

"No, honey, I . . ."

"You're a . . . lesbian, aren't you!" More fake tears.

"Oh, sweetie, I would never do that. I mean, once I experimented in college. I'm sorry for everything."

"You did? Do you have any picutres?"

"What?"

"O.k., if you say you'd never do it, I believe you."

"And I believe you."

The argument was over. For the next year, things went very well.

Until she started an affair with a woman she met at one of my office parties. She left and claimed that I drove her into the arms of a woman. At least I got to keep the dog. And Sydney.

Come to think of it, I should have never planted the seed. Maybe I'm the one who's not good in bed.

Learn more about this author, David Montgomery.
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