When I went into his bedroom I found Phil (77) sitting on the edge of the mattress. His long, fine hair bushed around the bald spot on top. He was smiling. I (76) started to inquire about his night but he jumped in. I was having a good dream. You and I were doing kissing research. "Kissing research?" We weren't writing down any results or anything, just kissing. "What kind of kisses?" Phil puckered up and began making sucking, slurping sounds. "What were we doing?" All kinds of French kisses. My tongue was everywhere in your mouth. I was stunned, warmly flattered, and too task oriented to bring the dream research into the present of an early morning.