True story.
After I filled the house with the toxic smoke of the burning bottle and then lapsed for about 36 hours into a post-traumatic depressive self-loathing funk of ineffectuality, my wife had a dream in which the two of us were trying to have sex but couldn’t because, it turned out, I didn’t have a penis. Then she realized that she had a penis, albeit a small one, and, conveniently, I had a small vagina. So we had sex.
