About 2:30 this morning, I found myself standing alone in the middle of a street in the suburbs. The eerie silence was broken only by the occasional sound of a semi howling down a distant road and, except for the one I'd just left, all the clean, new, plain-as-shirt-cardboard homes on the street were dark and still, just beyond the glow of scattered street lights.
It was chilly and damp, so I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and began walking briskly in the general direction of where I hoped to find my car. How difficult could it be? All I had to do was find the one that wasn't an SUV or a minivan.
I spotted my aging Honda almost immediately and jogged toward it, my footfalls echoing loudly in the stillness. My keys jangled harshly as I unlocked the door and climbed into the driver's seat. I turned the key in the ignition and was assaulted by a blast of rock music.
Damned radio gremlins.
Before I knew it, I was sitting across a table from Sweetie at a place called Pothaito having breakfast. As we shoveled stir fry and scalloped potatoes into our mouths, we entertained ourselves by taking in the decor, which was an eclectic mix of '40s greasy spoon and Asian bordello. Weary, work-booted truck drivers sat on padded stools, looking on as the cooks banged pots and pans and jabbered at one another in some unintelligible argot.
I speared half a dozen potato slices with a chopstick and was about to comment on all this when Sweetie reached across the table, grabbed me by the shoulders, and started shaking me.
"Quick! Get him into the bathroom!" she was saying.
"What?"
"Get him off the bed! He's throwing up."
The sickly fluorescents of the Pothaito gave way to the darkness of my own bedroom, my own wife, and one of the furry dependents in the throes of some serious reverse peristalsis.
Blasted hairballs...
5 comments:
Thanks for the entertainment this morning. That was good!
I'm certain it wasn't my neighborhood. The area was far too isolated, and the houses were all identical two-story frame structures with white siding. The one where my car was parked had its garage door open and the light on inside, but I don't have any sense of knowing who lived there, nor at the house where I'd been earlier.
The potatoes didn't have cheese. They were just cut into slices and pan fried in bacon fat. I'm not sure what all was in the stir fry, but there were bits of green and orange that I suppose might have been peas and carrots.
Few of the chairs in the diner matched.
And that's about the extent of my understanding of the dream.
Re. your long-hair cat... have you ever considered having her shaved? (Shut up, you gutter minds out there.) Seriously. I've known a few people—my wife included—who have had their cats' fur cut short for a variety of reasons. The cats seem to love it, especially in the heat of the summer.
What do I think? I think you're overthinking this.
Regarding having cats shaved...it's not cruel -- REALLY Susie! If you have a long-haired cat (aka Persian), it's actually helpful in keeping it from getting matted. It's also helpful during those times of mass shedding. Bek actually loved it! I don't do it myself. I take him to a groomer. And I'm not the only one who does this...many cat parents do! It saves on housework, stress and lets the cats feel cool during the heat of the summer.
Oh my - your subconscious was definitely taking a stroll. You and your sweetie are just the opposite of me and my wife. One sound somewhere and BAM - I'm wide awake. With her, she could sleep through the Armageddon and not stir.
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