Two-part story.
Part the first - Dream: I had travelled to Namibia and somehow managed to forget all my packing, including passport. Luckily border control was fairly relaxed, and when I got there I was able to pick up a dress for the costume ball I was going to. The dress had to be cooked first, though, and the cook made a bit of a hash of it. I was really very annoyed with myself for being so incredibly, forehead-smackingly Stoopid as to forget to pack*.
Part the second - Reality: Beloved woke me up, on his return from night shift, with the information that I had left the gas hob on. All night.
I love that my subconscious tried to warn me that I was Really World-Class Dumb and it had something to do with the cooker, but couldn't it have been just a little more specific?
_____
* Though strangely, I didn't seem to mind having a dress made of breaded chicken fillet.
Hmm. Kind of an unconventional slant on the edible apparel concept. And I can't help but wonder: small dress, or really big chicken?
ReplyDeleteUnrelated - I noticed (and liked) the nifty hover-tip effect with some of your links. Since I now see how to do this, I plan to "levitate" a few of my own links. I'll be sure to post a note explaining where I found the example.
Nice!
Really big chicken, apparently.
ReplyDeleteI think I'm relieved that you fix on that, rather than the "you left the gas on HOW LONG? For REAL?!" part.
Glad you like the hovercraft - er, title thingies. I needed some geeky assist to get them set up but am glad I did. I should probably use them more often but am in much of a hurry these days. And thanks for the honourable mention!
Uh-oh. The "h" word is a deeply buried mental trigger. When juxtaposed with (pretty much) anything related to the UK, a single thought begins to ricochet:
ReplyDelete"My hovercraft is full of eels."
I am undone. :->
Hm. I missed the cultural reference. Once again, my pointless American upbringing has failed me.
ReplyDeletefor the longest time, I was having dreams about marrying this really old guy. It was disturbing. Then, one night, I dreamed I walked in on him in bed with a skinny, 19-year-old blonde. I haven't dreamed about him since, but now I know not to sleep with blondes. Dreams are just like that - cryptic.
Imagine my confusion: I read G.Lo's comment, don't notice her name above it, and think it's been posted by ScroobiousScrivener.
ReplyDeleteTry it, it's fun! But then you have to stop, otherwise the in-skull hammering begins.
And - I can't help myself, just tossing this out there - "pointless American upbringing": redundant?
Why oh why do such thoughts even enter my mind? Just lucky I guess. :-O
Alas, I must write such things for only with great repetition can any thought penetrate the brainwashed nationalistic sentiment of the average American. *sigh*
ReplyDeleteHilarious dream. You should really try to run it through an online dream dictionary and find out "what it all means"
ReplyDeleteThat could be disturbing, bad thought - maybe not?
Steamy nubile young lasses, chicken fillet outfits. I suddenly feel like I understand you better.
ReplyDelete