Gross

On Sunday afternoon I fell asleep and took a lovely long nap in my lovely bed with its white Egyptian cotton sheets and its deep-red sateen striped duvet cover. I dreamed that a dentist got hold of me and kept doing dental work on me. In my dream I rushed over to this nasty vomit-filled trough and started gagging and spitting and dry-heaving into it. This is how pretty much all my dental appointments go, but still. So, so gross.

The best part was when I woke up mid-spit and discovered an absolute river of warm saliva trailing down my face, down my neck, into my hair, and on my shirt. So . . . apparently I wasn't keeping the spit in my dream so much. I staggered around my bedroom looking for something to wipe all that nastiness off my face and neck and hair, because even if I'm half asleep I know not to use my sheets and their fabulously high thread count for something like that. I collapsed into bed and fell back asleep, too out-of-it to do the Dance of Nastiness and Ick that the situation most definitely called for.

It grossed me out, though. And now it has probably grossed you out too. Everybody wins.

Happy Monday!

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