I woke up in a cold sweat last night at about 3:30 AM Eastern.  I could have sworn I was in the front row with my wife so close to Elvis while he was onstage that I could smell the hardwood stage he was playing on.  Everything seemed so real! It must be that I’ve taken to blogging so seriously about “The King” that he’s constantly on my mind. 

I dreamed Elvis was pursing his lip directly at my wife while she screamed in delight as he played “Heartbreak Hotel.”  I remember feeling a little- wait-no, actually very jealous when Elvis stared right at her as if to say, “Hey buddy, right now you don’t exist, and if I wanted, there would be nothing you could do to stop me from doing anything I wanted!”

It was only a dream, but he was right.  My wife adores Elvis, even thirty years after he left us too soon.  She believes he was the sexiest music icon to ever grace this earth.  I must admit, Elvis was a good-looking dude - too good-looking in fact. 

But here I was, staring a hole right back through Elvis with my laser-filled eyes for having the audacity to disrespectfully check out my wife, and guess what?  My wife was eating it all up!  How dare she?

Anyway, I woke up at 7:00 AM to help get the family rolling in the morning for school and work.  I met my wife in the kitchen and didn’t say a word to her when she said, “Good morning.”  She said, “What’s eating you?”  I replied, “Elvis is.”  She looked at me as if I were an alien being trapped inside her husband’s body.  Then I busted out laughing and confessed to her about my journey into la-la land last night.  She called me a “knucklehead.”   I told her I deserved it. 

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