Auto-ditzstruction
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.
8 comments:
Hmm. Kind of an unconventional slant on the edible apparel concept. And I can't help but wonder: small dress, or really big chicken?
Unrelated - 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.
I 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:
"My hovercraft is full of eels."
I am undone. :->
Hm. I missed the cultural reference. Once again, my pointless American upbringing has failed me.
for 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.
Try 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*
Hilarious dream. You should really try to run it through an online dream dictionary and find out "what it all means"
That could be disturbing, bad thought - maybe not?
Steamy nubile young lasses, chicken fillet outfits. I suddenly feel like I understand you better.
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