I was working from home this morning, when my late-sleeping son woke up and came into the study, wanting to tell me about a dream he had.
I was only half-listening, and when after a few minutes he was still talking, I grumped at him and sent him away.
A little later, I came into the kitchen and hugged my boy. “Some day,” I told him, “I’m going to look up from my computer and feel lonely for you, but you won’t be here because you’ll be away at college, or in your own house with your own family.”
I poured myself a glass of milk asked him to tell me what he had wanted to say.
“I had a dream that a crazed guy saw replicators instead of hectopodes, so he shot one with a shotgun, and it exploded into stuffing with a death jingle.”
The milk went up my nose.