We were lying in bed together, exhausted from our day, but thrilled to be in each other's arms. I began to wax romantic and gooey about what she means to me, how I'd
like to spend the rest of my life making her happy, how my heart jumps when I see her and I can't get her out of my head, etc., blah, blah blah, and at the end of my loving dissertation, there was a short, pregnant pause, and then she said, "Do you like cabbage?"
Ok. I laughed. I had to. It was absurd. But the poor dear had no idea what she had just done. See, she has this condition known as involuntary drift. One moment she is lucid and attentive, and the next, she's in Narnia with the Sandman. This was the situation when she came to and asked about cabbage. After much jocularity and a few miffed expostulations, she explained that she was dreaming that she was cooking dinner for me and was fretful that I would not care for the main ingredient. She really needs extra sleep these days.
