Special apologies to Mrs. F

Last night, I dreamt I married Brett Favre.

Brett Favre, former quarterback of the Green Bay Packers.

Brett Favre, current quarterback of the New York Jets

Brett Favre, 38 years old, married, with kids.

What the heck?! Why Brett Favre? Why not Brad Pitt? Or Tom Brady for that matter?

The dream was very strange. I was preparing to get married. Things were behind schedule and everyone was rushing to get ready for the wedding. In my dream, I was not in love with Mr. Favre. And for that matter, it didn't seem that he was so much in love with me. We were somehow getting married though.

I remember the dress was strapless, a cream-colored off-white dress that had a stiff fabric for the top part, and a billowy bottom part. I was frantically looking for shoes in my house (not my condo, but my home where I grew up). I found a pair of silver shoes that were clearly my mom's -- strappy sandals, very 1990's style, and not so stylish. I started looking for these other silvery shoes that I had for another wedding.

Rush rush rush. There was something inside of me that felt like this was all too rushed, that I shouldn't be pressured into marrying a guy I wasn't in love with. Maybe I could call off the wedding and back out. But I just said, fug it, get married.

All throughout these events, I saw my ex-boyfriend lingering in the background. Walking through a room while I was getting ready. Hanging around the wedding party. Not talking to anyone really, and not talking to me.

The strangest thing of all of this -- if it could get any stranger -- was that my boyfriend (my PRESENT boyfriend) was nowhere to be seen. Completely absent. Literally nonexistent.

Then I woke up. What the F was that about? It was so realistic. And so eerie.

I don't have a crush on Favre. I know he's one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time, and he never struck me as one of those cocky, arrogant NFL players who mug for the camera or talk smack about teammates. Seems like a genuinely nice, down-to-earth guy who treats his momma well. I think he's attractive for a quarterback (but most quarterbacks are rather handsome, aren't they?). But I never swooned at the sight of him throwing the ball in the air.

Moreover, I like the dorky awkward types, not the rugged athletic types. What the heck? What does it mean?

Dreams are weird.