I swear to Og, my subconscious mind must be composed entirely of baloney and mayo on white bread.
Last night, after dropping off to sleep, I found myself in a shopping market. Standing before a display rack, I was in the lamentable position of having to choose which type of kitchen towel I should buy.
Should I buy the natty green one or go for the more daring plaid design? True, the plaid was more colorful and had an excitingly boxy pattern, but the green towel was fuzzier and probably better at sopping up water. On the other hand, the green towel was fuzzy and might leave crud all over my dishes, a problem the plaid one presumably would not have. I couldn’t make up my mind.
Needless to say, I spent a good half hour, subjectively, debating the finer points of the two towels. I occasionally took side trips to ogle the tempting displays of shelf paper and weigh the merits of buying the yellow plastic egg whisk vs the more traditional stainless steel kind, but it always came back to the towels. Green or plaid?
Pray, did this dream have ninjas or giant robots (or giant robot ninjas)? Did it involve flying space lions or transforming lesbian dinosaur robots? Could I fly, shoot hockey pucks out my butt, knit atomic cross-stich, flip planes out of the air with my two mile long prehensile sticky tongue, find intelligence life in my navel or invent a hyper-intelligent computerized pogo stick? Heck, no. I never seem to get those sorts of dreams these days. At least it didn’t have Bill Cosby in it this time… shudder
I think my subconscious mind is on an infernal quest to turn me into a boring drone… :-\