I had a classic day residue dream last night. I know exactly what prompted it too: a combination of discussions with my wife on the subjects of “House Hunters” and dating. I only wish the knowing made the experience itself easier to bear.
While watching an episode of “House Hunters” with Sophia last night, I once again expressed disbelief about the show’s basic premise. The idea of introducing prospective home buyers to three potential residences and requiring the participants to purchase one of those abodes strikes me as lunacy. Critically, none of the choices ever fits all the buyers’ needs or desires. Invariably, every house presents problems of insufficient size, space, layout, location or condition, or excessive price. Normal people won’t shell out several hundred thousand dollars for a home which falls short of their wants in significant respects; yet the buyers on “House Hunters” do just that every episode. And since I’ve found no evidence of the producers paying the whole purchase price or even a portion of it, I don’t understand why any sane individual would appear on the show and agree to its rules.
During a commercial break, Sophia and I veered into a discussion about dating nowadays. It wasn’t a terribly interesting exchange, so I won’t repeat it. Suffice it to say, the crop of lunatics, assholes and ne’er-do-wells a girlfriend of hers is encountering makes my wife happy she’s no longer trying to find a match.
Last night’s dream — well, nightmare — combined elements from both of the evening’s topics. In the all-too-real sequence, I found myself a participant in a reality TV show titled “Husband Hunters.” I was one of three men introduced to the episode’s primary player, Sophia, as a potential mate. As with “House Hunters,” my imaginary version required its featured woman to marry one of the men shown to her by a matchmaker. The bride-to-be lacked the luxury of extended relationships with the guys before making her decision too. In the style of “House Hunters,” the husband-seeker had to select her mate based on what amounted to a single speed date.
In the “episode” playing in my mind last night, Sophia’s prospects consisted of: 1) an uncouth, tremendously obese, obscenely wealthy gent, who spent most of his meet-and-greet searching for the television remote control (which he ultimately located in a fold of belly fat); 2) a suave, handsome, and well-to-do registered sex offender; and 3) me.
Even while dreaming, I couldn’t believe I had to compete for the affections of a woman who’d already married me. Being her husband and all, I thought myself a shoe-in. Leave it to my treacherous subconscious though. Not only did I lose out … to the sex offender, but adding insult to injury, I drew last place!