FIRST CONTACT: How I Dreamt a Mission to Mars With My Wife Would Go

**Another actual dream. I need to lay off the beer and fatty food before bed**

In this dream, I was on a mission to a faraway planet, I think it was Mars. NASA had assembled the best and brightest, along with me and Kate, to explore the red planet. Our mission was to find signs of alien life, and we weren’t having any luck. We were quite comfortable in our all-white, tubular living quarters, but our spirits were down. It was probably because we felt we had failed in our mission, that or the Netflix feed was out.

Then, out of nowhere, an alien life form contacted us, and they did so in the most bizarre manner. These superior life forms sent a small drone that looked like a toy helicopter to our expedition site. On top of that helicopter was a little Maui action figure.

Of course, everyone knows Maui is the shape-shifting demigod character in the animated Disney movie about Moana, a strong-willed girl set on saving her Polynesian village from a blight. Maui’s voice was done by none other than the venerable Dwayne Johnson, “The Rock.” The action figure was a short, stocky character in a hula skirt with long bushy hair, not the first shape I’d shift into if I were a demigod. The Maui toy had a speaker in its mouth, which communicated an invitation to us.

In a deep, booming voice, the Disney character said, “WELCOME EARTHLINGS. WE WISH TO MEET WITH YOU IN THE VALLEY TWO HUMAN MILES FROM HERE IN TWO EARTH-MEASURED HOURS.”

Then, the cheesy little drone flew off without a trace.

‘Wow, we’ve got to meet with these guys.” I said to my fellow space rangers. “They’re way ahead of us in miniature boombox technology.”

Elated with our breakthrough, our crew dressed for mankind’s first meeting with an alien life form. My wardrobe was pretty thin, so I chose my space jumpsuit with a flannel shirt and tie showing through the zip-up top. I figured a tie would be appropriate for such a momentous occasion.

I was waiting in our small common area when Kate joined us. Of course, she looked fabulous. She was even sporting some of her homemade jewelry, which she was sure would be a good conversation starter.

Kate took one look at my outfit and immediately said, “NO WAY!” She would not let me meet extraterrestrial dignitaries while dressed so poorly.

I looked at the other team members, who weren’t dressed much better than me, for a little support. I got none. They all fussed with their travel packs to avoid eye contact. They were NASA scientists and knew the risks of messing with volatile substances, especially spouses.

I silently grumbled, “Thanks guys,” while I endured a nagging of epic proportions.

I tried to explain that my outfit might be the cutting edge of fashion in other galaxies. And if that was so, wouldn’t she feel silly, even with her handcrafted earrings. I also mentioned that NASA didn’t allow us much weight to pack because it was a long trip to Mars. I had to leave three shirts behind so I could bring my Seinfeld DVD collection, which I reminded her she thoroughly enjoyed last Wednesday.

Kate would hear nothing of this. She marched me into our space quarters to find a new outfit.

After examining my closet, she was horrified I didn’t have anything better. But she wouldn’t give up. She was determined to turn her frog of a husband into Prince Presentable.

The rest of the crew was already in the lunar space buggy and starting to get impatient. They rolled their eyes while looking at their space watches. They squawked that we needed to leave while taking great pains in saying they weren’t taking anyone’s side in the dispute.

Kate was myopic. Her mind was locked in the sole focus of getting her husband properly attired. I think I even saw her grabbing her glue gun and the space drape from the rec room.

I was distraught. History would label me the Bill Buckner of space exploration if I let my ensemble impasse make us late for our historic meeting. I was so upset I snapped out of my dream and tossed and turned for hours.

The next day I blocked Kate’s email account from receiving NASA correspondence; I’ve become too attached to my flannels.