Thursday

The Dreaming

I had a dream, early this morning: I was driving home from Boston. That’s it. Driving along the interstate. Seriously, how boring it that? I can’t wait until I start dreaming about watching paint dry or turtles crossing roads. Sheesh. But then I was rudely awoken by one of my cat making the oddest noises. It was like a “Rruh! Rrrrrruh!” I got up and ran to see what the matter was but he was just angrily chewing on a stuffed-mouse toy. Weird. I get back into bed and have a better dream. Brad Pitt has taken one of my furry blankets and cut it into a caveman shirt, which he’s wearing. (In retrospect, I think the Troy advertisements are finally doing their job: infiltrating my subconscious). We’re in a horse-drawn buggy in central park. I keep shaking my head in disbelief that he has cut up and is wearing one of my favorite blankets as a shirt. He tells me he wants to do it. I say, “Wait! Paris Hilton wants to do it with you. But I think she’s a little… you know… skanky.” He says, “No duh.” I say, “No. We can’t. You’re married.” Then I think: For real, how many opportunities to have sex with Brad Pitt am I going to have? I say, “Oh, okay.”

2 comments:

amy said...
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amy said...
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