good for a laugh

IN MY WILDEST DREAMS OF THE FUTURE, I wake up bright and early every morning and make chocolate chip pancakes or blueberry waffles in satin lingerie, an apron, and pearls - a labour of love, for the man of my dreams. I am your nineteen-fifties housewife, and you are a wholesome college professor. You have a horrible moustache, and a pair of spectacles, and terrible bow ties, and pants that are a little too tight, and suit jackets that are a little too corduroy. You are bumbling and clueless but so jovial and so you that I forgive it. I make you a lunch in a tin lunch pail just how your mom made it for you 'in the good old days', complete with a napkin with a note to remind you of some important event or some insignificant errand or perhaps just to say 'I love you'. Despite my decadent cooking, you remain terribly thin, and I work hard to keep my body perky and firm, so that you remain the envy of all your friends who have horrible beer guts and wives whose wardrobes consist mostly of sweatpants and free tee-shirts she got at trade shows, because nothing makes you feel happier than knowing that all your friends fantasize about all the naughty things they wish they could do to your wife. Not that you know. You are completely oblivious of the stares I receive at your end-of-the-year barbecues, because you are too busy grilling meat to perfection and joking with Mr.-and-Mrs. So-and-So, while I refill empty glasses of lemonade in a polka-dotted sundress, which Mr. Johnson says is "to die for", which we all know means something else entirely. But, despite all the come-ons and suggestion, at the end of the day, I would rather take my bumbling, clueless college professor of a husband to bed than any other Joe I've met along the way, because he sees past the cleavage and sexy negligee - in fact, most times, he doesn't even notice the negligee at all - and, most importantly, he's always good for a laugh.