I Like Potatoes
"I like potatoes," whispered the angry young man as he slowly heaved the sack of potatoes above his head, towering over the unconscious farmer before him.
"I like potatoes."
Three hundred miles away, Mary Ann Summers suddenly awoke from her sleep and sat bolt upright with a gasp.
"What is it, hon?" mumbled her husband from the other side of the bed.
"I just had the most vivid dream!" whispered Mary Ann.
"Go back to sleep dear"
Mary Ann tried to capture the fleeting images before they dissolved from her memory "... there was a farm, and potatoes, and a young man. He liked potatoes, but he was angry about something... he was angry about... about... OH ABNER!"
"What is it?" cried her husband, suddenly alarmed by his wife's change in voice tone.
"Do we have any potatoes on the farm?"
"Potatoes? No, of course not. We only have sheep. You know that, dear."
Mary Ann nodded. Of course she knew. How silly of her. What a silly dream. Within minutes they were both back in a deep, relaxing sleep.
A sleep so deep, that 3 hours later, she didn't hear a truck pull up into their drive way. A sleep so deep, she didn't hear their front door being opened, followed by slow but determined footsteps climbing the stairs. A sleep so deep, she didn't hear the quiet but distinctly angry whisperings of a young man, who had just entered their room carrying a sack.
"I'm a meat and potatoes kind of guy," he whispered, slightly straining as he heaved the heavy bag of potatoes and side of lamb above his head.
"Meat and potatoes."