Normally, I’m not a “hey listen to me talk about my dream for 20 minutes and then analyze what it meant about my childhood and how my family dog, Puffy, never cuddled with me enough and now I’m emotionally damaged” type person, but I feel that if I can ensnare you with that giant run-on sentence, then you might as well stick around and read what I dreamt last night. Enjoy.
I was at a piano recital (Did I say dream? I meant nightmare.) with a male friend when he suddenly dropped that pesky pencil he’d been holding, by my foot. Just then I realized that I had worn my khaki cargo pants and forgot to shave my legs! Oh God! This wouldn’t be such a problem, had dream me not had giant, muscular, tree-stump legs of a male black bear who never took up swimming so felt that the natural look was more suitable for his lifestyle. He bent down to get the pencil and noticed the furry trashcans coming out from the bottom of my Old Navy $10 Steal-Deals. The look of horror in his eyes had enough intensity to jolt me out of the sleep, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead.
“But Lolo, ” you may ask yourself, “what does that mean? What horrible buried past does that represent?”
I tore the covers off my legs and looked down. The wooly cylinders of sexless death were still there. I screamed.
Spring is here. Time to get out the straight razor and the blow torch. I’m talking to you, ladies.