Even my dreams aren’t sexy anymore

I woke early this morning. Tossed and turned for a bit then went back to sleep. I had a dream. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream, especially one this detailed. It’s early afternoon when I’m writing this, and I still remember most of it. That’s unusual.

My dream was about one of my favorite Blue’s artists, Samantha Fish. Ms. Fish is a talented singer and guitarist. She has four or five albums out now. I think that’s impressive for someone in her late 20s or early 30s.

I listen to her music on Spotify. She has some great live performances on Youtube. I’ve seen her live at the Winthrop Blues Festival. She was a hit at Winthrop. She’s talented and good looking. Blond shoulder length hair. Legs up to her neck. That phrase is still used, isn’t it?

Anyway, back to the dream. I was on a cruise ship. Don’t know how I got there or where I was going. My cell phone rings. It’s Ms. Fish. We have a long conversation. The kind new old friends have. We talked and talked but eventually ran out of things to say. The conversation became awkward. It went from an intense discussion on interesting ideas to whada think of this weather?

She suggested we meet up. Or maybe I did. Or maybe no one did. My brain just cut to the next scene.

She’s on the same cruise? Oh, brain, what are the odds?!? And she has my cell number. And used it. Score.

We were at a bar or lounge, a public place. We talked. And then . . . I know, but wait for it . . . we kissed. We kiss for a few minutes then go back to talking. Kissing then talking. I could tell she enjoyed it as much as I did.

“Wanna go somewhere and make out?” I asked her.

“Yes. Oh, I can’t. I have a performance.”

“A performance? When? How long?”

“Right now. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she said.

Samantha Fish walked out.

I walked out. Some dude walked out with me. I identified him as a friend, although I have no face for a connection.

“We’re going to meet after her performance and make out,” I told him.

My faceless friend was surprised. A pang of guilt. He knows I’m married and now I remember. How convenient that I forgot a small but important detail like that.

I decided it wasn’t going to stop me.

I woke.

What. The. Fuck.

First off, I would know if Samantha Fish were performing on the cruise. She’s probably one of the reasons I’m on the cruise. And I doubt she’s the only performer on a Blues cruise.

The kissing. That’s the best my 48 going on 49 year old brain can conjure? Ya wanna make out? I know how this dream would play if I were 28 again. Sure, kissing would be involved, but we would be naked and doing a lot more than kissing.

All right, brain. If you’re going to dream, then make it a good one. I don’t want to go through the rest of my life asking hot chicks if they want to make out and then watching them walk off. In my dreams, I mean.

Just in case you’re reading this: Diane, I wouldn’t act this way awake. I hope you know that.

No wonder guys go through a mid life crisis.