Reason #3 why I might have to pinch my husband in his sleep

Yesterday morning, my husband woke me up before he left for work to tell me about a dream he'd had.

"I was speaking at a conference," he said. "It was a marriage conference, with lots of couples in the room. I was telling them how much I loved you, explaining that you were the best thing that had ever happened to me."

"Oh really?" I purred drowsily. "Do tell more."

"I told them that the proof of my love for you was the fact that I had a chance to marry Jennifer Lopez, but I picked you instead." He leaned over and kissed me on the head, tucked the blankets in around me, and headed downstairs.

It was early, so I had the opportunity to continue snuggling there for a few more minutes, and naturally, I was thinking fondly of my husband. "Isn't it sweet," I mused, "that he had that dream about how he could prove his love for me was true, because he could have married Jennifer Lopez.

"Jennifer Lopez, with the gorgeous lush hair and the melting brown eyes and the large round bosoms and the flawless skin and the bottom that somehow manages to be big, yet firm enough to bounce a quarter on...

"And yet he chose me, fat and frizzy-haired, with a bottom as big as Colorado and patchy, middle-aged skin....

"So everyone will know his love is true because he could have had a hot armful of feminine perfection and instead he chose....

"SON OF A BISCUIT-EATER!!! I AM GOING TO HUUUUUUUUURRRT HIIIIIIIMMMM!!!"