Jack Bauer was right behind me naked, and it just fell in as I turned around, honey, I swear.

This morning, John blurted out, “Last night I dreamt that I got high.”

I was a bit amused that while I was lying next to him dreaming that we had gone on a date (because, folks, Dream-Time is the time where you do the stuff you never get to do in Real-Time, right? right.), he was dreaming about The Ganja.

“Uh, okaaaaay.”

“Well, I was somewhere, and someone was smoking pot right behind me, like, right on the other side of my back. And I was turning around, and I was taking a big breath in right as I was turning around, and I accidentally inhaled a bunch of smoke.”

I just looked at him, still mildly amused, waiting.

“And then I was walking away, and I exhaled, and a lot of smoke came out of my mouth.”

And he even acted it out, with hand gestures, to indicate a large mass of something exiting his main facial orifice.

And he grinned. It was definitely the Shit Eating type.

“So I got really high.”

Add in a little Shit Eating Laugh.

And then he just stood there, smiling this odd little smile.

“So, how do you feel about that? How did you feel about it in the dream?”

“Well, it was like, I was thinking… this is bad! But, I didn’t mean to, so it’s okay… but, um… this is bad!”

Hm. Yeah.

I wonder if I can, you know, get away with the same logic as applied to my dreams involving Kiefer Sutherland.

Just for the record…

…going into my child’s room at night in response to Mega-Screaming, to change a diaper full of diarrhea and clean the shit off of his face and hands is NOT the definition of My Ultimate Fantasy. (I swear, he got some in his mouth. *gag*)

I mean, there was no Kiefer Sutherland, anti-gravity underwear, perfect boobs for life, endless supply of calorie-free chocolate, or no-cost, worry-free daily babysitting offer in there ANYWHERE.

And wait… wait… let me check… no. I did not have the world’s largest, multiple orgasm at any time before, during, or after the event. (by the way, if I had? I’d be seeking therapy RIGHT NOW.)

And nobody has come to my door to offer doing my dishes, laundry, and to vacuum my carpets for the rest of my natural life.

Additionally, in case you were wondering, I have not found the deed to my private island lying around anywhere.

Also, there is still cellulite on my ass cheeks.

So, confirmation: it had NOTHING to do with any ultimate fantasy of mine.

It was just runny excrement. YAY!

(Why, oh why, do they have to get curious and stick their hands in there?)

PS: Don’t worry, I’m no Poop Newbie. This is the home of Scatastrophe.