Why I Don’t Eat At Chick-Fil-A

So last night (well, not last night but one night) I had this dream (no this is not a speech, it’s a retelling of an actual dream) and I had to share (with my friend, in an email, the next morning). This is going to be long so get comfy. 

Disclaimer: This dream is rated R for language.

The dream begins (or the earliest point that I remember) with me looking out the front window of our house at about 2am. There are surprisingly several cars driving on our street but I’m looking for the police officer that is coming out to investigate the recent break-in. Finally he arrives and I tour him around the house. It’s a big house and he likes the layout but our furniture is a bit outdated and he thinks we could really spruce it up with some great thrift store finds and color on the walls. (Law enforcement professionals are notoriously helpful when it comes to interior design.)  I thank him and we move to the spare bedroom, this is where a lot of the damage occurred when the robbers ransacked the house and he’s concerned we may have termites (makes sense). We move on to the master bedroom – just inside the doorway is a hallway, leading to the bedroom, and in that hallway is the master bath. I notice that the door is shut and find that odd.  I open the door and say to the officer that this is the master bath but nothing was stolen or broken in this room. He sticks his head in and comments that there is a foul odor, so I lean in, tell him I can’t smell it but notice that there is a comforter in the bathtub (one of those big garden tubs) and it’s moving. Strange. Then this naked girl (she looks like an actress but I don’t know her name – really light blond curly hair, kinda round face, probably in her 30’s but she’s younger in the dream) and DSR (my husband) sit up. My heart pounds, my hands shake, and I say, “What the fuck? Get the fuck out of my house you slut!” and I shut the door. To the officer I say, “moving along”, and we proceed into the master bedroom. There is quite a bit of damage in this room and obviously some stolen items (dresser, tv, bed, etc – all are missing). The officer and I spend some time in this room – he’s writing his reports while I’m listening to see if I can tell what’s happening with DSR and the slut. The officer finishes his report, I walk him to the door and he leaves. Then I look for DSR. When I find him he’s calling a security screen door installation company and he let’s me know they will  be arriving at any moment. (It’s now morning and light out.) The screen door installation company arrives. It is a family company and consists of a husband, wife, and their three small children. They are in the kitchen discussing security screen door possibilities while I head back to the master bathroom to confront DSR.

Me: Are you fucking her?
DSR: Yes.
Me: I can’t believe this. Why? Do you love her?
DSR: No, I just wasn’t getting any at home so…
Me: You never want to have sex either so don’t blame this on me.
DSR: Yes, I do. Just the other night I even initiated it.
Me: WHAT? When?
DSR: Don’t you remember when I told you my tummy and head hurt?
Me: That’s how you initiate sex?
DSR: Yeah, you were supposed to comfort me.
Me: That’s ridiculous. I can’t believe you did this. You need to get the fuck out! How many times did you fuck her?
DSR: 24

That’s when the screen door people come down the hall and say they will come back at a better time and then leave. We follow them to the door, say goodbye and go to the kitchen. Random people are in the kitchen watching a video of me trying to mimic a dance video (a video within a video) and everyone is laughing so I start mimicking the mimicking and now it’s a video, within a video, within a dream – even my mind can’t handle that and we jump to the patio where DSR and I are once again discussing his affair, while hanging laundry on one of those metal twirly pole things (example: http://www.target.com/p/household-essentials-outdoor-dryer-steel-62×72/-/A-10437429?ref=tgt_adv_XSG10001&AFID=Google_PLA_df&LNM=%7C10437429&CPNG=home&ci_sku=10437429&ci_gpa=pla&ci_kw=).

Me: Where did you meet her?
DSR: She works at a fast food restaurant.
Me: How did you meet her?
DSR: She motioned me in to the bathroom.
(At this point in the dream, there is a flashback moment and I see the time when she motioned him to the bathroom.)
Me: How long has it been going on?
DSR: 3 months
Me: What’s her name?
DSR: I don’t know.
Me: Really? You’ve been fucking her for 3 months and you don’t know her fucking name? Which fast food restaurant is it?
DSR: Chick-Fil-A
Me: Good. I don’t eat there. How many places have you done it?
DSR: 24
Me: In our house? Well I know you did it in the bathtub! In our bed? Oh my God, you are such an asshole.

Then I storm out and start punching random walls. I figure it won’t matter because we’ve already made a claim with the insurance for the damage the robbers did and it will all get fixed. Then I see a baseball bat! I take it to the bathroom and start beating the crap out of the bathtub.

That’s when I wake up. While I’m laying there trying to emotionally recover from this very stressful dream, DSR wakes up and goes to the bathroom. When he gets back I tell him, “I just had a dream where you slept with a girl 24 times that you met at Chick-Fil-A”, and he said, “Good thing for you I don’t eat at Chick-Fil-A.”


Yep… that about sums it up.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Augustine Erpelding
    Jan 16, 2015 @ 16:55:00

    What is with the number 24?

    Reply

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