More and more lately, I'm receiving reminders that I am no longer 21. Firmly established in my mid years, I refuse to say that I am getting old. I am, instead, merely getting "middle."

But I'm getting middle at times quite unexpected. I firmly accept that I am no longer capable of pulling an "all nighter" and I even accept that I no longer have any desire to do such a thing. It's odd, though, that I can't recall why staying up all night and going to work the next held any charms to begin with!

I even take some pleasure that the thought of six to a hotel room to save bucks isn't a desirable goal any more. I'm more than happy to put in extra time at work so I can afford a room with the actual number of people the hotel intended it for.

But I would have thought that my dreams wouldn't "middle" me. After all, in your dreams, you are stripped of limitations placed by age, maturity, or even physics.

So why did I recently wake up from a cuddle dream aghast?

I like cuddle dreams ... no, no, I'm not talking sex dreams. Cuddle dreams. Lovely, safe, delightful dreams about snuggling up with someone special, with the man your dreams!

But this most recent dream left me wondering. Upon waking, I had the smile on my face that such cuddles will bring, until I opened my eyes and realized .... no! I shot up straight out of bed in horror.

No! Why?!!!

The cuddling was nice... Okay, the cuddling was fantastic! Truly dreamy. But when, in that awful moment of waking, when I realized who I was cuddling with... ACK!!!! No! I couldn't possibly! Not me! I'm middled, not getting old!

Imagine my shock and horror when I realize that in my most intimate fantasies, when I can have any man who ever lived, or make up someone perfect from pure imagination, that in my sleep I chose HIM!

Why?

I'm not this way in my waking moments. I can't tear myself away from the TV when the BowFlex ads come on. Now there's someone worth cuddling with. And he's in my age range, too, though I confess, I don't seem to meet any 41-year-olds in real life who look as endowed as the BowFlex man.

So why aren't my dreams filled with the BowFlex man instead of, oh, I can barely type it .....

instead of Brian Dennehy?

The man of my dreams is Brain Dennehy? Not to take anything away from the man. Brian Dennehy is an incredible talent, someone who never fails to satisfy on stage. But in my dreams?

Brian Dennehy a sex symbol? Certainly his Willie Lohman was something to admire, but who wants to end the day cozying up with Death of a Salesman?

I'm sure a Freudian would come up with all sorts of deep significance to this, but all I could think of was that I'm past my high-heeled open-toed pump times and into fuzzy slippers and a worn bathrobe, even in my fantasies.

What's the point in having a physique that's merely middled when you have a subconscious that's getting old and comfortable.

Oh Brian, what have you done to me? And why do you have to cuddle so good?

By Brenda Koehler (Jasmine) on Unrecorded Date:

The situation is actually worse than you imagine. Beneath your tough, self-reliant career-woman exterior, you secretly yearn to be Maureen O'Hara raising an idyllic family in a rustic paradise. I must admit it has a treacherous appeal. Now where's the phone number of that guy who used to wear all those flannel shirts? No, no, somebody stop me!!!

By Katja Harder on Unrecorded Date:

Jo, do not despair. It could be worse. When you're 50 something, Brian Dennehy IS the man of your dreams - awake or asleep!