I almost never remember my dreams, but lately I’ve found myself recalling one now and again. Last week, I dreamed an episode of the long-defunct sitcom Night Court revolving around lecherous prosecutor Dan Fielding, who as the episode closes has just decided to abjure some kink or other. Then, as the credits roll, we get brief shots of Fielding in a series of increasingly ludicrous sexual scenarios. In the final one, he’s prone on a desk in a diaper, arms above his head and fingers touching in imitation of an airplane nosecone. A leather clad woman behind him is gripping his ankles and sliding him into a large replica of the World Trade Center.

Upon waking, I relate this to my girlfriend, who tells me she‘s just had a dream in which, while jogging home, she passes through her gym—there’s a track running through it that’s a short cut, apparently—where she is chased by a mob of ferrets. She complains to staff at the gym, who refuse to believe her: Their ferrets are expertly trained by an Olympic coach from Yale University.

Theories on what either of these signify are welcome