The other night I dreamt that Donald Rumsfeld had started working with me. He was being an asshat.

As is the custom in our small office, I first went to a colleague to make sure I wasn’t way out in left field (no pun intended). She suggested I confront him.

So I did. I walked into his office, which was much nicer than mine, much nicer than our director’s. He smiled. I told him (in polite office-speak) to quit being an asshat. We talked about the variety of ways he was being an asshat. He agreed that since this was not the Pentagon, it would be better for all concerned if he kept his asshat to himself, as much as possible.

As we were winding down, his family started to file through his office door. All ten of them. The place where I had been standing was now a long conference table with elaborate place settings. His family seemed quite nice, not at all asshats.

I declined his wife’s invitation to stay for dinner.