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Guess what!
It's raining. A lot.
I've got chores to do and kittens to doctor. Now, where the hell did I park my dinghy?
It's raining. A lot.
I've got chores to do and kittens to doctor. Now, where the hell did I park my dinghy?
You smell like really nice feet.
Jun. 14th, 2008 03:33 pmAnother absolutely bizarre dream last night. No guest appearances by costumers in flooded backyards, though, so slightly less strange than before.
In my dream, everybody in the area had been evacuated to a gymnasium somewhere by the Red Cross, and all was mopey, damp chaos. The flooding, you know, which is nowhere bad enough to require evacuation here. I was helping shuffle folks around to their appointed cots, because I am a heroine. And telling people with small children what do is what I do best.
Also volunteering in the cot allotment department, was an anonymous young man, very attractive and dark-haired. Let's say it was Rufus Sewell, circa Cold Comfort Farm, because that's not too far off the mark.
The overwhelming characteristic of this dream is how very bad everything smelled. Wet dog, wet fabric, mud, perspiration, manure, mold -- just about every bad, wet smell you can imagine. Everyone smelled terrible, from the littlest child to the tallest adult.
Anyway, Rufus-ish and I made a great cot-direction team. Just snap, snap, snap -- we had those poor, damp people moving. At one point, as we passed each other, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, "You smell absolutely fantastic. Better than anything else in the room."
That's right: Rufus-ish dug the smell of basements and armpits.
Even in my dream, I was taken aback, because did I mention how absolutely foul the place smelled? So, I raised my eyebrow at him and said, "What are you talking about? I smell like feet, just like everybody else." And he did a little sexy winky-smirky, and said, "Well, then you smell like really nice feet."
And then I woke up.
Sadly, I think this may be not too far from actual compliments I have received in real life from the opposite sex. Think I should track down Rufus Sewell and ask him if I smell like really nice feet?
In my dream, everybody in the area had been evacuated to a gymnasium somewhere by the Red Cross, and all was mopey, damp chaos. The flooding, you know, which is nowhere bad enough to require evacuation here. I was helping shuffle folks around to their appointed cots, because I am a heroine. And telling people with small children what do is what I do best.
Also volunteering in the cot allotment department, was an anonymous young man, very attractive and dark-haired. Let's say it was Rufus Sewell, circa Cold Comfort Farm, because that's not too far off the mark.
The overwhelming characteristic of this dream is how very bad everything smelled. Wet dog, wet fabric, mud, perspiration, manure, mold -- just about every bad, wet smell you can imagine. Everyone smelled terrible, from the littlest child to the tallest adult.
Anyway, Rufus-ish and I made a great cot-direction team. Just snap, snap, snap -- we had those poor, damp people moving. At one point, as we passed each other, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, "You smell absolutely fantastic. Better than anything else in the room."
That's right: Rufus-ish dug the smell of basements and armpits.
Even in my dream, I was taken aback, because did I mention how absolutely foul the place smelled? So, I raised my eyebrow at him and said, "What are you talking about? I smell like feet, just like everybody else." And he did a little sexy winky-smirky, and said, "Well, then you smell like really nice feet."
And then I woke up.
Sadly, I think this may be not too far from actual compliments I have received in real life from the opposite sex. Think I should track down Rufus Sewell and ask him if I smell like really nice feet?
