I had a dream recently that the remote control my husband clutches so tightly -- even while sound asleep in front of infomercials on sexual dysfunction devices and cheap cooking gadgets -- had magical powers.

As I wrenched it from his death grip I quickly learned that each button translated to my husband doing something domestic and helpful.

Button 5 found him cooking dinner in the kitchen, while punching 11 sent him to the basement to load, unload, fold and stack laundry.

When I got to channel 24 I relaxed as Jack gave me a foot rub with a smile on his face. He didn't even make snarky comments or mumble under his breath that he had enough work to do at his "real job."

Then I let fate take over and pressed multiple buttons simultaneously, like I do when I'm standing at a vending machine and can't decide which snack I really want. I looked around and noticed Jack out front, vacuum in hand, cleaning my car and preparing to change the oil.

Moments later, I woke up grinning at the thought of a husband who performs at the press of a button without a complaint or suggestion that I'm a nag.

Then my eyes opened reluctantly to a pile of dirty laundry next to the bed, layers of dust on the dressers, no toilet paper on the roll, shaving remnants in the sink and balls of dog hair in every corner of the room.

Where was my dream man with his pleasant attitude and desire to help?

I shared my dream with some my married friends who often stress that their husbands just won't put in the extra effort around the house. They took to the idea of a remote control quite nicely, with a quick list of all the tasks he should be doing but doesn't.

My favorite: "I'd have him put his clothes in the hamper and take the crap out of the pockets, mow the lawn, get rid of the scrap wood in the yard, get rid of the clothes from 1989 that he just can't let go of."

Of course, it's not possible to robotize our husbands and probably not even what we want, simply because I can only imagine the uncomfortable positions my husband would put me in with a remote at his disposal.

I'd love to sit back and run the show the way my husband skips through his TV programs. Even better, he could do it on his own. But I'd rather hold out for the surprises that could happen, and not just on Hallmark holidays.

I'd love for him to offer to maintain my car just because he knows I hate doing it. I'd love him to offer to give me a massage, because I would never even ask for one.

In the meantime I'll just close my eyes for a bit and let my imaginary mate go to town click-clicking away to a cleaner existence.

It works better if I clean while I push those buttons, of course.

Laura Lewis is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.