House Shirt Coffee

As I entered the oak-paneled family room of an unfamiliar house, I saw a tall, muscular man facing away from me looking out the window. He looked a lot like Arnold from behind. He turned around. Wow, it was Arnold. Yes, THAT Arnold.

He asked, in his distinctive accented voice, if he could borrow a shirt. I told him yes but said it won't fit. He laughed as I handed him one of my white dress shirts.

Moments later, or so it seemed, I entered another room to say I was leaving. I realized it was a bedroom and a beautiful young woman lay beside Arnold in the bed. She was under the covers from the neck down, facing me; Arnold was asleep facing away from me.

As I turned to leave, I heard a sultry female voice ask if there was any coffee in this house. I turned around to see the beautiful walking my way, dressed only in a man's dress shirt. My shirt. The one I had lent Arnold.

Yes, coffee. Follow me.

Then I woke up. I have the oddest dreams.