I dreamed I became some sort of wedding planner. I was in
our kitchen with my parents, Jeanine and a bunch of other people. We were
cooking for an upcoming wedding.
Someone asked me where the paper towels were because we had
run out. I said they were under the sink. The person who asked seemed confused
about this and needed more specifics. “Just
fucking open the cabinet door,” I snapped.
I didn’t mean to snap but did the person really think I had
nothing better to do than give explicit instructions for where to find the paper
towels? I was planning a wedding. Figure it out on your own.
The next day I stopped over Ann’s house to do some more work
on the wedding. Erik was there watching TV. He made some sort of hilariously
vile comment, merging two nasty terms for genitalia into one catchy
portmanteau. I can’t remember what it was.
This dream was even more surreal than most because I have no
desire to become any sort of event planner. I have already been through the
D-Day like machinations of planning a wedding and have no desire to plan anyone
else’s, thank you very much. We had fun and everything but it got to be a
little much at times with putting together all those favors and centerpieces.
Luckily, Salero was very organized and helpful so I had no stress there.
I can’t imagine being a wedding planner. Now that my own is
over, I just want to sit back for awhile and be a guest at other people’s
functions and only have to worry about showing up on time.
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