At least my subconscious is happy

I dreamt we were in a fish market. We were trying to pick the right fish to buy, but not taking it very seriously. In fact, we weren't very serious at all about the fish, choosing instead to tease each other about our choices. You chose a selection of salmon and tuna fillets, and the long-suffering fishmonger packed them up in a bag for you, all soaked in marinade. "That was what I was going to have," I insisted. "Now I'll have to pick something else." "Pick a nice shellfish," you laughed, and I grumbled and poked at the various lobsters and crabs on offer. Eventually I went for a dressed crab, and even in the dream I thought, mmmm, seafood soup. As I paid for it you laughed, put your arm around my shoulders and cupped my elbow. And I felt warm and content, and cared for.