Good evening, fellow ants, and allow me to divulge the brief nocturne horror as portrayed to me first hand by my lovely wife. Succinct yet intriguing in the hollows of night formed by a a unique mind. Was she troubled? What she disseminating a clairvoyant message from beyond the pale? One may never know, but never-the-less, this is some Shit My Fiancée Says.
In a whisper she breathes, “Don’t make your souls wash over me.”
Startled I reply, “Well, what am I supposed to wash over you?”
With an air of mystery she responds, “An old, dead wish.”
Her cryptic dream desire unsettled me, and needless to say I slept with disquiet apprehension that night.
A Dime A Dozen: A Day in the Life of an Ant 