The morning of Valentine's Day, I was having a very elaborate dream.
Steph, some dude, and I were in New York. We just got our powers back (it's a dream, people) and I sensed that there was going to be a another huge explosion. To stop this explosion, we had to be secretive and get to the men -- but we had to climb through air ducts and pipes and such to the top of this older apartment building, instead of using the stairs.
The stairs were too obvious, and we had to be secretive.
So, we climbed through all the pipes, which were dusty and cramped, and I began to feel a bit of claustrophobia setting in, when we finally broke into an empy living room. The three of us were sitting in the living room of this apartment, which has emerald green carpet from some time period that isn't now. It was an empty apartment, and I remember that the walls were covered in wood paneling.
The Dude needed us to keep moving, but I remembered that I needed to call my dad and wish him a happy birthday. Out of nowhere, Steph pulls out a boombox, circa 1987, and I dial my dad's number and we play a song for him -- like teenagers do to each other when their in love. I held up the phone to the speakers so he could get his personalized song-message.
We didn't have the song on too loud, because we were being secretive. At the very end of the song, I held the phone up to my mouth and whispered, "Happy Birthday!"
On the edge of sleeping and waking, I woke up and realized, I really did say "happy birthday" out loud. It just flew out of my mouth. Steph looked like she was still asleep, so I just rolled out of bed and got up. I wasn't sure if she heard me or not.
Later, I asked if she heard me whisper "happy birthday."
She did. She wasn't sure if I was confused about saying "Happy Valentine's Day" or something.