I was jolted awake by the sound of my alarm clock going off. I was still tired. It was a bright beautiful day outside. A bird was signing right outside my open window. Tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet.
I dragged myself out of bed slammed the window closed and put on some clothes and brushed my teeth and went downstairs to have some breakfast. My wife was hovering over the stove, with both feet planted firmly on the floor, flipping pancakes. I plopped down at the table and opened the newspaper to read the top headlines, the newspaper completely obscuring her view, when suddenly a hand tore through the middle of it and I looked up to see a glass of orange juice being shoved in my face. I lowered what was left of the newspaper down onto the table, shreds of it now all over the floor. She was hovering over me, floating above the table. Her arms were now replaced with various kitchen utensils as if she was now some sort of multi-tool Swiss army knife. Her arm became a spatula and she slipped some pancakes onto my plate. Then she bent over and vomited up what appeared to be pure maple syrup, dousing them in that rich golden deliciousness. I asked for a glass of milk and she obliged, pulling up her nightgown to reveal a perfect set of utters. I bent over to suckle one of them when--BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

It was all a dream. The aroma of fresh pancakes wafted into my room from the kitchen.