Marjorie awoke to the tinny whinnie of a miniature unicorn prancing across the pillow. Billowing pink clouds the size of sandwiches wafted over from the other side of the bed. A host of doe-eyed satyrs danced and cavorted in the stallion’s glowing wake.

“Harold,” she slurred, her face still half buried into her own pillow, “You’re leaking again.”

“Hmmph, yer, fuzzy gumdrops and…”

Rolling her half closed eyes she prodded him again, a good poke above his hip, “Harold. You’re leaking. Knock it off.”

Harold snorted, blinked, and propped himself on his elbow, “Sorry, love.” Bleary eyed but with an air of contentedness, he began scooping the clouds and satyrs to jam them back in his through his ear.

Marjorie shooed the unicorn away from her face," For the record, sweetie, you have the gayest of dreams of any married man I’ve heard of."

“That’s nice, dear,” Harold mumbled and with a dopey grin let the sparkly steed trot back into his dreams, to frolic and bound across a candy landscape.