It has to be something I ate.
First of all, we were going to Mexico, my husband and I. We were on a boat -- I don't particularly care for boats -- and I was nauseous. Our dog was there, just one of them, and he ignored me the entire time.
Maybe it was because I didn't have my shoes on and he was embarrassed, if dogs even get embarrassed, but if they do I am sure he was because I was embarrassed, myself, at the sight of my own feet. They were huge, not my feet at all, and my toenails were painted this hideous orange color, like a Halloween pumpkin, only oranger. I know oranger isn't a word.
I don't know where my children were, but they weren't on the boat with my husband and barefooted, nauseous me and the embarrassed dog on our way to Mexico. But far worse than having icky orange toenails on feet that weren't even mine and a dog that wouldn't give me the time of day and not knowing if my children were lost was what my dear husband was wearing. A suit.
A corduroy suit. A maroon-colored corduroy suit.
I woke up in a cold sweat. In my bed. It was morning. I wasn't on a boat. And I wasn't nauseous.
Oh, thank God, I sighed, it was just a dream, then I threw the covers back and checked my feet to make sure that they were, indeed, my own. They were. And my toenails weren't the color of a Halloween pumpkin, only oranger. They were red.
About that time I heard the sound of the children starting to rustle around upstairs. They weren't lost. They were safe and sound.
Then I heard the dog bark outside, which meant he was hungry, so he wasn't ignoring me like he had been in my dream, and I remembered feeling like he had been embarrassed of my feet and I made a mental note to check and see if anybody had ever studied whether or not dogs could be embarrassed because that's kind of interesting.
My husband started to stir.
"Have you ever had a corduroy suit?" I asked him the second he opened his eyes.
He didn't flinch or screw up his mouth like he does sometimes when I ask a stupid question. He just looked at me for a second or maybe two with still sleepy eyes and then rolled over. Wait a minute. Did he even hear me?
Oh, Lord, I thought and maybe even said out loud and then it occurred to me that he wasn't even curious why I asked him if he ever had a corduroy suit.
"I dreamed you wore a corduroy suit," I said. "You do not have a corduroy suit." It was a statement, not a question. But was I sure? I wasn't.
He had already fallen back to sleep.
It has to be something I ate. Mexican? Was that why I dreamed we were going to Mexico? Maybe it was that entire box of Hot Tamales candy?
Perhaps. Nevertheless, it was just a dream. Just a dream.
But I think I might check the back of the closet for a corduroy suit ... just to be safe.
I'd hate for the dog to be embarrassed.
Contact columnist Mandy Flynn at email@example.com.