I dreamt that my wife, a severely disillusioned adult diaper heiress from Dallas, bore a son in the ruins of the Forum Romanum. This son immediately became a fatally charming, five foot tall Filipino man with a keen fashion sense cobbled from Soldier of Fortune magazines and late-night Cinemax movies. We loved him very much, but then the army came and took me and his mother away. My son was relocated to a monastery brewery in Germany where he spent his childhood and part of his adolescence as understudy to the assistant brewer monk while becoming passably fluent in Faroese thanks to an au pair that worked nearby.