“I had a dream I cheated on you,” I say.
“Oh?” he says, turning over to look at me in bed. He is an even-keeled human, and I am not. Independent clauses that would throw me into a panic don’t seem to perturb him.
“With a tennis ball,” I explain. “I can’t remember the mechanics of the transgression.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be mad,” he says, pausing, “but I certainly would have questions.”