My subconscious is really getting around. Last night's dream featured Brad Pitt.
Unlike Ben, Brad did not insist on discussing literature. He did, however, think I was truly gifted comedically - at one point, he lifted his shirt, pointed to his six-pack abs, and said "I have never laughed so much. What a workout!"
Interestingly, his wife was in the next room, having a shower. So what did we do? We cuddled on the couch. Fully clothed, down to the thick wool socks, cuddling. And Ms Aniston did not, at any point, emerge toweled and dripping from the other room.
Once again, my mind created an ideal scenario but chickened out on the follow-through. This is despite assurances from Dr. T that I can have dream sex with celebrities, as long as I'm willing to share the details.
Well, these are the details: he's got great abs, Jennifer was in the shower actually getting clean, and I had on nice warm socks.