Dreamless in Sun City

I was in the kitchen, toasting bagels and cutting grapefruit for breakfast, when the morning call of “Patty!” came from the living room.  It was time for Mom’s cup of coffee.

Thirty seconds later, as I handed it to her, she said, “Do you remember when I told you that I didn’t dream anymore?”

“Yes, I remember.  And I told you that you did, you just didn’t remember your dreams,” I answered.

“Whatever.  I was going to say, it’s a good thing I don’t.”

“Oh?  And why’s that?” I asked.

“Because people who act out their dreams will probably get dementia.”

“Act out?  What do you mean by ‘act out’?  Is that like Charades or something?”

“Yes.  No.  You know.  Like talking and eating when you’re asleep.  Stuff like that,” she explained.

“You mean sleep walking?”

“That too.  And sleep running and moving around.”

“So, who’s the expert that says this is connected to dementia?” I asked.

“The Today show,” she said.  “It’s from a study somebody did.”

“Must be the same people who researched shrimp on a treadmill,” I muttered, turning to go.  “Just another stupid study.”

“I don’t think this one’s stupid.  It’s a real study,” she said emphatically.

“I guess, since it’s a real study, it must be true,” I commented drily as the toaster oven dinged that the bagels were ready.

“That’s what I thought.  So, see, it’s a good thing I don’t dream anymore,” she said happily.

“Yup, that’ll guarantee the only people going crazy around here are me and Bill,” I whispered to the grapefruit.  And I’m pretty sure it agreed with me.



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