My Weird Dreams
Yes, I AM a sick woman, as my nightly dreams bear witness. When was young and eternally pregnant, those dreams were vivid, off-the wall, and sometimes downrigh morbid. But now, my dreams are even stranger, For instance, here's a dream I had last night (drum roll, please): Imagine a close up shot of a loaf of Rainbo bread--thin sliced. Imagine a mysterious hand entering from the left frame approaching that loaf. Getting closer...closer...closer until REE REE REE (Psycho sound effects) it unties the twist tie. Fade to black. Um, okay. That's it. Not even enough time to eat one measly kernel of stale movie popcorn or shuffle your feel on a slimy movie theatre floor. I mena, how boring can it get? Does that mean my life is a bland and predictable loaf of bread or does it mean something super profound like I'm meant to be the supreme nurturer of the universe? Am I going to be a world class baker? ANyone who's tried my puff pastries might argue with that prediction. Will I be coming into a lot of dough, soon? Doubt it, by the looks at my recent mindless and maniacal Christmas shopping rampage. Frankly, I think I'm just really easy to entertain. After all, one of my dreams was about unloading the dishwasher. Uh, right. And you know how you do retakes of your dreams til you get it right? You know, you hone a perfect Clint Eastwood comeback just before you slice the genitals off the intruder who threatened the lives of your children, and then hang them around his neck like a bracelet. No, wait, then you decide to stuff them in his mouth. No wait, then you decide to use them to fashion a new nose and new cheeks? Anyway. Moving on. I actually did come up with 37 ways to unload the dishwasher in my dreams. FIrst, I unloaded them only to discover that (gasp) they had only been on rinse hold. (Ree Ree Ree). Then, I found every knife was still covered with peanut butter hardened to a consistency somewhere between tar on a cold day and concrete on, well, any day. Next, I dreamed that all the cups had been turned up at some time suring the cycle so that they were all filled with this disgustingly filthy liquid with brown grit in the bottom. (Naturally, I do what's right and shake them out before putting them away. No sense sharing that secret with the rest of the family.) Next, I dream the dishwasher ran out of Jet Dry so everything was covered with spots the size of Montana. Next I dreamed the whole thing broke, it tooks three weeks for me to find this out, and when I opened it up, the smell was enough to make a cockroach vomit and there was a nice family of rats using it as a vacation destination. This, of course, was the worst. I hate having a family of five with no dishwasher. Paper plates suck. So do plastic utensils. Oatmeals okay, but steak's a challenge. Plus, the kids don't even put THOSE dishes away. Okay I've run out of intelligent things to say so I'll close with two of my most astute observatinos from these dreams: My kids were never in these: They weren't there remembering to put the twist tie back on the bread and they weren't there eagerly volunteering to unload the dishes. Oh well. Next blog--Public Restrooms. The Inside Scoop. (Good graphic there, eh?)