For all the neglected party people in the house

Last night, just before I went to bed, I went to get a drink, to wet my proverbial whistle. While looking in the fridge, I noticed our hotdogs. Not just any hotdogs, but speciality Ballpark Grillers hotdogs. More expensive in that there are less hotdogs per pack than usual hotdogs, because they're supposedly gourmet hotdogs, of some sort. We had decided to get them (because of a coupon) but save them for special grilling occasions, rather than eat them raw when we're hungry and short on time between meals. Not that I do that, but some people do. Really, I don't. I'm anti-raw. I even only eat toast.

Well, not really, toast takes too long to make. But the rest was true.

Back to my important point. I saw the hotdogs. And then I realized, hey, I had dreamed about those hotdogs the other night. In that, I dreamt that I had noticed that there were more hotdogs in the package than we had originally thought.

So I rushed back to bed next to my sleeping wife and had to mention it, even though she was probably too asleep to pay attention. But remembered dreams are something you just have that incredible urge to share with someone.

But then I realized, hey, I was dreaming about hotdogs. That's not something to let my wife know. I'm a happily married man!

Between you and me, it was only because I had gone to bed hungry that night, having only ate a barely filled pita wrap that day.

Hey, I'm on a diet.

But that's the only reason. And if you tell anyone otherwise, or anything about this story, I will find you and give you an atomic noogie.