Last night I had a dream.
I dreamed I met a man.
And I liked him. I really liked him.
I liked the warmth of his hand in mine, the scent of his beard, the sound of his voice, and the way he scarfed down a plate of chicken chili. I even liked the way he adjusted his two hearing aids to hear what I had to say.
My dream man wasn't tall or short, rich, or famous. He was simply a man with a delicious smile, who liked to dance.
But something unexpected happened in my dream.
As if swatted by an evil magician's wand, I grew fangs and horns; my simple outfit turned into a silly slutty thing. And in the twirl of a dance, I went from Archie's loveable Betty, to Sally Fields' Sybil.
I spewed nonsense, and yakked incessantly idiotic things.
Sadly, my dream man vanished right before my eyes.
Of course it was just a dream.
But after I awakened and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I asked myself the important question a widow asks, how do I get in the groove thing and begin my new life?