A couple of days ago I found out that season three of Mad Men was coming to the ole digital video disc this week. I was naturally stoked, since I hadn’t checked that shit out yet and was wondering when I’d get to stare at Joanie for another amazing thirteen episodes again. Oh, and uh, take in an incisive look at mid-century America or whatever. I sent away for it on Netflix and received news that I’d be getting it in mail sometime today.

I was stoked. And then I had the weirdest god damn dream.

I had this odd dream where my better half confessed that she didn’t actually like Mad Men. I was shocked, for she has been my wingman in all of my Mad Men viewings. The murky waters of my dream shifted, I was appaulled. I mean, I don’t handle dreams where she wises up and leaves me well. But this was like three-thousand times worse.

After she told me that she was never really into it, I sat there in my dream, confusion, distraught. And I looked her dead in the eyes, and I remember saying so completely serious:

This is going to be a problem.

There are certain dealbreakers for me in relationships, I just never realized this was one. I mean, I’m not demanding. I just can’t date chicks who can’t respect The Trilogy, who smoke, or worship zombies and other cults. But apparently Don Draper is up there for me too. I never knew. I decided to share this with Lady Caffeine.

Ian: I had a dream you secretly didn’t like Mad Men, and you told me, and I seriously went, “This is going to be a problem.”
Ian’s Better Half: hahahaha
Ian’s Better Half: it probably would be a problem

Well then. I’d hate to see what would happen in a dream then, if someone was like, “Yo, Ian, I love you, but like, Billy Adama is lame.”