Dream: Ex-Wife and Dentist

I haven’t seen my ex-wife in years, but last night I had a dream about her.

I’m in the hallway of a dentist’s office, and I discover she’s working there as a dental hygentist.  Of course, it instantly becomes the last place I want to be.  It isn’t just the thought of my ex sticking my teeth and gums with sharp metal objects that bothers me.  I just don’t want to see her. 

Down the hall,  I notice the dentist in one of the rooms, and I realize she’s involved with him.  Now this is even more the last place I want to be.

My ex is being weirdly pleasant, and I become aware that the dentist knows who I am and has been expecting me.  Then I sense that the real reason my ex is hanging around so close is that her new boyfriend might want to ask me some questions about our marriage.  She wants to monitor the conversation and steer it clear of any touchy subjects, especially the reasons behind our breakup.

Typical.  But I just want to leave.  This is beyond awkward and uncomfortable.

Then I’m walking through downtown Dayton, but I’m a young Paul Newman.  I’m carrying a fishing pole with a small freshly caught fish still hanging from the line.  I walk into a parking garage because it’s the back entrance to a skyscraper.  Security tries to stop me, but I give them a look like, “Hey, I’m Paul Newman,” and I walk past them.

I walk up the stairs and open a door which leads behind a bar.  There’s a very busy bartender and he has these little mini sinks–or friers–he’s tending to.  I ask him if he knows what type of fish I’ve caught and if he could prepare it.  The patrons around the bar have a good laugh, but the bartender doesn’t like my attitude.  I’m partially serious: I want to know what kind of fish I’ve caught and if it can be eaten.

Then I’m me again, and I find this little blond-haired toddler.  He couldn’t be more than two or three years old; and he’s trying to get to a bathroom.  He’s almost hysterical thinking he could mess himself.  I get him to a bathroom, and he’s fine.

It turns out that this little boy is under my ex-wife’s care.  She’s the one he didn’t want to disappoint by dirtying himself.  I remember when I first met my ex that my then stepson who is blond was three years old; but this is a different little boy.  I think this might be the dentist’s son.

She’s preparing the little boy beef stew for supper.  I notice the bowl she places in front of him is steaming hot, so I go to the fridge, get a few ice cubes, and place them on the stew.  It cools down, and the boy starts eating.  He asks questions about how I know her, but I give vague answers about knowing her years ago before he was born.

My ex tells me how helpful I am and asks if I couldn’t stay for dinner.  I lie and say I’ve already eaten.  There’s a lot of prepared food on the counter though.  But my wife’s chipper tone is irritating me because I know what she’s implying is that if she makes me supper and we sit down and have a meal together then it’s like we’re friends and it absolves her of all the bad things she did and said to me–all the bad things she’d hate for her dentist boyfriend to discover.  Those things would no longer matter.  And if they didn’t matter then they wouldn’t be worth bringing up to her boyfriend.

But they matter to me, and I’m so relieved to get out of the apartment, which turns out to be on the top of the parking garage.  I do hope the little boy will be okay though.