Go downstairs for breakfast

You wake up from your dream. You grab your phone to check the time: 9:00. You smirk; your biological clock is so precise that you don’t need an alarm.

Anyway, what kind of dream was that? It was oddly vivid. Still, it seems like the kind of thing your perverted brain would cook up, doesn’t it? Not like that sort of thing would ever make sense in the real world. Even trying to explain some of your tamest fetishes in your past relationships has generally resulted in befuddlement or mockery, so you don’t even try anymore. Much less something as specific as that dream.

Your generally belligerent nature probably doesn’t help keep people around for long, either. Well, maybe “belligerent” is not the right word. You’re what some people would call a “troll”: you get a kick out of starting random arguments with folks and getting them riled up. You don’t necessarily mean it in a malicious way; it’s just amusing to you. More than once you’ve had to apologize to friends for crossing the line, even if you thought you were just being playful. That’s something you need to work on, you suppose.

As you think about all this, you get dressed and start making your way downstairs for breakfast. No work today, fortunately, so you can just kick back and dig in. You just recently moved in with your girlfriend, and one of the perks is her amazing cooking skills. She probably has some awesome waffles ready. Indeed, once downstairs, you see your girlfriend in the kitchen, sipping some coffee while putting the finishing touches on a steaming plate of waffles. You approach the kitchen counter, but she stops you in your tracks.

“Whoa. What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, clearly annoyed by something.

“Huh? I was about to grab some breakfast. Isn’t that it?” you ask, pointing to the plate.

“Oh, it is, but you’re not getting any.”

“What? Why not?” you ask, confused. “Did I do something?”

“No, you didn’t. And that’s just it. Look at this,” she says, gesturing angrily toward the sink.

“… Oh. Yeah, sorry, I forgot to do the dishes last night. Oh, well, I’ll do them after breakfast,” you decide nonchalantly.

“Uh-uh, no you’re not. You’re not getting any breakfast until you’re done with the dishes,” she commands.

“Come on, babe, they can wait a little while. I’m starving,” you plead.

“You do the dishes, and then you can have some breakfast. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” she says, walking away with the coveted grub.

“Honey, you’re being unreasonable. I’m right here with you. You know I’ll do them after breakfast,” you insist.

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me! I’m not starting my weekend arguing with you,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Oh, for the love of…” you start to say. But then, something strange happens. You stop talking as you notice what looks like a growing dark patch in your girlfriend’s jeans, starting from the crotch and slowly expanding outward. A dark streaks runs down her left leg, growing thicker and more reflective. Is your imagination running wild? The strangest part is that she seems entirely unfazed by this, staring you down as she, to all appearances, pisses herself in front of you.

“Uh…” you utter, entirely confused by the sight in front of you. You notice yourself getting aroused.

“Well?” she asks, with a hint of smugness in her voice. “Shut you right up, didn’t I?”

“Uh. I… guess?” you manage to say, unsure of how you should even react. The dark dampness in her jeans seems to have stopped growing. Her expression softens somewhat, and she seems more relaxed.

“Okay, so that’s settled. I’ll set everything up at the table while you finish up with the dishes. Thanks, babe!” she says, now much brighter than she was just a few seconds ago. She hesitates, turning back and returning to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. At this point, it seems there’s nothing else to do but follow her orders, since you don’t want to ruin the mood again.

You turn on the faucet and grab the sponge and a dish as you process what just happened. Did she just pee herself on purpose? Why did she suddenly stop arguing? She acted like she had somehow won. You mull over it a short while before it hits you: the dream! Could it be? That can’t be right, can it? But the entire situation played out exactly like it would if it was real. You look down to where your girlfriend had been standing on the kitchen floor. The slightly yellowish, though clear puddle, and the sneaker sole-shaped smaller puddles leading away and to the living room only seem to confirm that this is indeed real.

So… what does this mean? You smirk. Your course of action is now clear: to test this out, you’ll have to get into arguments with the women in your life. If this is your new reality, it’s looking extremely promising.