Spouse advises that she had a most interesting dream last night: she skated for the Toronto Maple Leafs of the National Hockey League.
In real life, she has never before played a game of hockey. (This last fact, I have only just learned, and am determined to remedy somehow.) In the land of Nod, however, she pulled a Blue and White, Maple Leaf-emblazoned jersey over her head and set off to do battle against the (unidentified, so far as I know) opposition on the frozen pond. I can hear the wags now; the Leafs might be better off with her over, say Rickard Wallin. Oh damn that’s funny. So funny, I feel like I want to stab someone.
Anyway, Spouse tells me that she doesn’t know who the opposition was, or who skated on her wings, but she does recall that she spent her time on the ice making “sweary jokes”. I have been able to learn little else about the specific details of what constitutes a “sweary joke”, despite persistent and thorough interrogation on my part, except to confirm that the jests in question do indeed (as you might expect) involve profanity of some sort. Spouse was able to advise that the Angry Irish Overlord himself made an appearance in this dream; he was evidently not impressed by Dream Spouse’s chosen form of expression and voiced his displeasure. Now this is where the dream gets weird…erm, “weirdER.” Fictional Burke indicated his disapproval by personally attending to the “puck drop thingy” (face off), prompting Dream Spouse to say – in a sarcastic and “funny” voice, I am told – “Sooorrrry, Misssster Burrrrrke!”, earning her an immediate and permanent benching at the direction of Unreal Burkie.
I swear to you that Spouse was not drinking before retiring for the evening last night. All I can tell you is that we went for Indian food at dinner; the only thing I can surmise is that apparently the Tandoori chicken recipe made liberal use of some sort of arcane insanity peppers. Those of you in the area of the Bombay restaurant on King George Road in Brantford, don’t say you haven’t been warned.