In dreams
"Has Dad gone for a ride?" Miss G asked when she came into my bed yesterday morning.
"No, he's gone to get some fresh fruit to go with pancakes," I answered.
"Thought so, " she said. "I thought he came into my room and told me that in my dream, but it was a lovely dream about fairies, so why would Dad be in it?"
I was having a delightfully saucy dream myself this morning, when the possum stomped on into it. The possums and the humans are not peacefully co-existing at No. 3 at present. Dreams should not be stomped upon, not even by cute furry creatures with wiggly noses. Particularly when one is having them in bed at a respectable hour of darkness. The dreams, I mean.