I walked into my kitchen and my husband was sitting at the table, drinking coffee, and complaining about me to former-president Bill Clinton. Bill was empathizing with my husband, and adding his own complaints about his wife.
“This has to be a dream,” I thought. “This can’t be happening.” But I wasn’t sure, because my dream life is often remarkably similar to my awake life.
Either way, something had to be done, so I put in a call to Hillary and told her what was going on. She was not pleased.
She and I are getting together next week to complain about our husbands. It did turn out to be a dream, after all, so scheduling our meeting is going to be a little tricky, but nothing a former-Secretary of State’s assistant can’t handle.