Memo to Self: Don't Let Spouse Write the Christmas Letter

Note: This post is actually our 2006 Christmas letter. I know there is now a blog that consists entirely of things someone says in their sleep. My husband isn't nearly as prolific a producer of nocturnal bon mots as this other gentleman, but when I've collected enough new ones, I'll do another blog entry.

Last year when I was complaining about writing the Christmas letter, Dave said, "That's easy! I could do it in my sleep!" Well, I waited and waited and now, here it is after Christmas, and did he write anything in his sleep?
Apparently not! He did, however, talk a bunch in his sleep, so I took notes. I may have missed some of it, but here are some actual Dave Talking in His Sleep sound bites, just in case they were his memos for the Christmas letter:

We'll start with the night he sat up suddenly in bed and announced, "I forgot to mail the literacy bonus coupons!"
I quizzed him the morning after, to see if he recalled the dream leading to this curious pronouncement, but he was clueless. He never remembers any of the stuff he says in his sleep, or what brought it on. Which is probably a good thing, because who really wants to know what kind of dream would inspire you to make a disturbed noise and ask, "What are you farming those fish for?"
Sometimes you can tell that it's a happy dream, like the time he proclaimed ecstatically, "Wow! Lots and lots of corn! Corn on the cob!"
Other times, it leans toward the profound: "Geez! What changes in my life there would have been if I'd gone to visit my uncle!"
Or (holding up the plastic Broncos mug of water on the bedside table): "Guess what? I made a pact with myself to drink this!"
Once it even had Native American spiritual overtones. That was the time he startled me out of a sound sleep by intoning sonorously something that sounded like: "Ah yo ko le....Ah yo ko le" (followed by loud snores).
More recently, I've found I can get him to converse with me in his sleep. But the results are somewhat worrisome. After the following conversation, I lay awake for hours brooding:
Him: "Mighty Ducks."
Me: "What?"
Him: "Mighty Ducks."
Me: "What is it?"
Him: "A hockey team."
Me: "Why are you talking about it?"
Him: (pats me on the thigh) (snores)
Me: (thought process only) Hmm...hockey players...huge leg guards....thighs....fat...He thinks I have fat thighs!

After our latest little sleep-talk conversation, I'm worried he might try to pull some sort of a heist. Here's what he revealed the other night, not long after helping me run a Bingo fundraiser:
Him: "Mmmm mmmm! (mumble, mumble)
Me: "What?"
Him: "Mmmmm! All that (mumble, mumble)
Me: "All that what?"
Him: "All that beautiful money!"
Me: "Where?"
Him: "On the payoffs."
Me (alarmed): "Where?! At Bingo?"
Him: "Yeah!"
Me: "Honey, do you know what you just said?"
Him: "Uh huh."
Me: "What?"
Him: "I wish I was an Oscar Mayer wiener?"

So I guess we don't have to be too worried. Still....if you see a short, 50ish man with a ski mask near your local Bingo emporium, I don't know him!