Backstory: one of the books I'm currently reading is about Michelangelo painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo considered himself a sculptor and was not particularly skilled in the art of fresco, the medium in which the chapel ceiling was to be done. Therefore, he was less than thrilled about being assigned to fresco the ceiling when he would rather be working on his pet project, a large sculpture for the Pope's tomb.

Story: Last night I dreamed that mi cielito was driving me around so I could do some errands. (This is odd, since IRL he doesn't drive). All the time he was complaining about having to drive me places because he's a boyfriend, not a chauffeur, and he's much rather devote his time and attention to "boyfriend functions" than sitting in the car waiting for me to finish my errands. As I ran in to one more store, I told him that there's a book in my purse that he can look at if he gets bored waiting. (No, I don't know why I wasn't taking my purse into the store with me). Bitterly and sarcastically, he says "Is it about a man who is hijacked from his true calling and passioned and forced instead to carry out menial tasks that are not only beneath him but also that he's not even very good at?" I looked in my purse, saw the Michelangelo book, handed it to him, and said "Yes it is!"