Oh What A Tangled Web We Weave, When First We Practice to Be Clever

So, I’m sitting at the computer with my wife Francesca. She is checking out my latest blog.
“What do you mean by blaming your stupid ideas on me having a dream?” she asked inquisitively.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied sardonically.
“There’s no need for you to be sardonic,” she says thesaurically. “And don’t avoid my question. You’ve made me look foolish. I had no such dream about your being missing. And, what is more, who is this Morgan Fairchild?”
I prudently ignored the Morgan Fairchild question. “I’m being totally sincere,” I said totally sincerely. “I really don’t know what you mean about your dream.”
“Sure you don’t,” she said, semi-sardonically. “You got into some stupid story line about your being missing and the best way you could think of to get out of it was to make up some idiocy about it all being my dream.”
“Honey,” I said sweetly, “I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, look here on my computer,” she said bytingly. “See right here,” she said pointedly, pointing to a blog about her dream.
My eyes bugged out of my head, so to speak. She was right. I began to read in an undertone. The more I read, the more confused I became. I surely never wrote any of this, I thought.
“I surely never wrote any of this,” I echoed.
“Well who do you think wrote it?” she asked derisively, “…M. Bob Freeley?”
“Imbibe freely?” I asked, using a cute ploy to make sure that no pun goes overlooked.
“I’m sick and tired of your stupid antics,” Francesca said angrily. With that she started to pound me about the face with her fists.
“Stop. Please Francesca, stop,” I began to scream. “Stop, Francesca, stop, please stop.”
Suddenly someone began to shake me vigorously. “Steve, wake up.” I opened my eyes. It was my wife Helmi.
“What’s wrong. You must have been having a dream,” Helmi asked me anxiously. “And, who is this Francesca?”

TO BE CONTINUED?