I'll take the Chamomile Armanis
So as I sit here at the computer, typing a blog entry on a lovely Saturday morning when I should be out on the porch ranting on about the idiocy of Maureen Dowd and other such nonsense in the morning paper, I realize I have a blogging addiction. And now that I've discovered this whole site meter thing, it's all down hill from here.
I've even got my sunblock on (I'm now over 30, caution rules) and as I reached for my sunglasses I had this funny feeling that something was terribly wrong, and I remembered a dream I had last night. Yep, here it comes, reporting on a dream--never as interesting to others as they are to you. Have you ever listened to someone's description of their dream without starting to space out and start wondering what you're going to have for lunch? Although I have to say that my husband's shopping dreams are the exception: "I was in the grocery store, shopping for cat food." There's a whole series of them. Now that is the sleep of the truly untroubled.
Anyway, I was speaking Italian (even in my dream I spoke it poorly--my subconscious obviously caving to the fact that I actually speak ZERO Italian.) So I'm at a restaurant, and the waiter comes to take my order. I think I'm ordering wine. But as I know as much about wine as I do about Italian, the waiter makes it clear to me, in emphatic Italian and lots of hand gestures, that I've ordered totally the wrong thing to go with my meal. And what I take from the conversation is that he's going to bring me a selection to choose from. But when he shows up, he's got a display box like the ones they use to bring tea bags to your table in restaurants, and with a flourish he opens it to show me about a dozen pairs of euro-designer sunglasses. And I realize that he'd been gesturing at my shades tossed on the table by my plate, not my wine glass, when he'd been telling me that my choice just wouldn't do.
I take from this that I obviously need a new pair of expensive sunglasses.
That's it. Back to the porch.
posted by 1000 words @ 9:47 AM
1 Comments:
It's true. I also had a dream about shopping for a good marking pen, which you could give a freudian reading except that the shopping series does include one about cat food -- and one about, uh, dish soap. They are all set at actual supermarkets I have visited.
However, I did have a dream last night that I looked out the window and saw a giant mallard duck, sitting on an even bigger giant lilly-pad, which is floating over 19th street in front of our house. One of my senior colleagues from work comes up beside me and says, "It's that time of year." There seems to have been a fender-bender, some time ago because the cars are now abandoned, on the street below. Who's untroubled now?
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