I rarely dream, and when I do they tend to be very strange. Last night was an interesting one:
Chris and Katie had just come back from a trip to Germany, and he was telling me about some of the sights they saw.
“We were there for the official celebration of Hitler’s death,” said Chris. “They put a wreath on his grave.”
“Yeah, it was weird.”
“What the heck do they print on the ribbon? ‘Yup, he was evil all right!’”
And then I woke up laughing. So there you go.
For the record, I’m pretty sure there’s no official celebration of his death in Germany, or anywhere else for that matter. Also, there is no grave.