I am newly married to a blind man like Patrick of Dover. I look through the crowd of people and see Patrick, annoyed with me, getting someone to help him go  put my chair under the awning. He walks up to me and hugs me gently and says in a lecturing tone, "Now dear, you left your chair out in the rain. It could have been ruined." I grit my teeth and say thinly, "Thank you." We hug but I am distant and angry. He feels that. He says, "What's wrong?" I say, "What's wrong? I don't have to do what you tell me. I don't like that tone you take like you are my owner now that we are married. This isn't working out." I site another incident where he gently, tyrannically insists I do what he wants me to do. I resent that tone and don't want to knuckle under. Meanwhile the torrential rains pour down outside. [NOTE: ALL FEMALE CHARACTERS (AND ASSOCIATED NARRATIVE) WERE DELETED FROM THIS DREAM REPORT.]