I woke up in bed last night with a panic attack. I had just had this totally freaky dream.
Tillerwoman wondered what the hell was going on.
I dreamed I was employed as resident blogger at this amazing sailing center on a beautiful Caribbean island… and I was also the cook. It was like Minorca Sailing - only better - and not over 3,000 miles away.
Tillerwoman laughed at the idea that I could cook anything.
And there was this little sailing instructor who used the B-word a lot and would always be saying things like, "Yay B-word Musto Skiff!" and "Yay B-word Sea Sail today!"
Tillerwoman tried to calm me down.
But I couldn't stop talking about my dream… "And I had this 27-inch iMac with Retina 5K display and a WordPress blog and I wore an orange hat..."
Tillerwoman wasn't impressed.
But I kept going. "I haven't told you the best stuff yet… I was paid a gazillion dollars to be the resident blogger at this place and I had millions of readers and I just killed it…"
"And I lived with this tall beautiful blonde sailing instructor…"
Tillerwoman totally lost it. "Keep dreaming pal."
It was the darndest thing.
5 comments:
The B-word was Baydog, right? What did you, I mean I, cook?
The moral of this tale is that if you could ever remember exactly how a dream ends, you would never tell your wife anything about how it started?
B for Buff!
B is for Bluesette, of course. The lesson should be, if you enjoyed your dream, write it down in a private place and never talk about it in front of your spouse. Doc H gets it. Because even though you would never in real life act out what you dream of, your spouse will never buy that. STFU and enjoy the memory of your dream. :)
Oh, and if you should decide to blog about it, preface the story with "a friend of mine told me about his dream...."
Good advice Panda. How smart of you to spot that "Blue" was in a roundabout sort of way an inspiration for this "dream."
Post a Comment