Hypothetical Love Story

I have a re-occurring nightmare: I marry the wrong man. It happened last night. There I was, walking through a flea market with my family, about to get hitched. I was wearing a pink dress with a shawl, shoeless, bemoaning the situation. "I'm not sure if he's right," I said. "What if something better comes along?" Cut to the Space Station, site of my wedding to a boy with greasy stringy hair and sandals. I looked at him and knew it was all wrong. My fiance and I went for a walk and I looked him in the eye and said "I'm sorry, I just don't know you that well. This isn't it." He replied "Are you sure? I want to get married. I love you so much." With massive guilt, I apologized to him privately and then to my assembled guests. They were understanding, maybe even relieved that their young friend was holding off on true love. I woke up at this moment, tired and relieved that my stressful dream was just that. Marrying a bad boy with bad hair in a bad dress is better in the hypothetical.