Don't ask

This morning, before Jazz started her single bark solute to the morning - it's ongoing, it's as annoying as a pesky circling mosquito (but louder and further away to swat or do anything about), it's surely designed single-mindedly by her to get under my skin and crawl around and make a nice cosy burrow there - I was dreaming.

I was dreaming of my old house. No, not my childhood house, the one we sold to come here. For some reason, Steve and I had apparently thought it quite acceptable to keep using a set of keys we still had to go back there and just "neaten things up" from time to time. It seemed as though this had been going on for some time and the owners were, ever so graciously, starting to be vocal about the fact that they didn't really like the idea. And who could blame them, really. But that shitty old recliner was never meant to sit by a window like that.

So in my dreamtime raid on my old home, it appears Steve and I had actually concocted a story for if we were caught.

It was Christmas time, going by the decorated tree up in their living room. And when we heard their car in the driveway - shit, shit, shit! No! But I haven't had enough time back here, just soaking in the place again - Steve raced to stall them in person while I set to with our plan. This was the part in this particular dream where one stands back and logically looks at what they are doing in the dream and goes You thought what would be a good idea??

I looked down and saw myself writing on crappy little clicker pens. You know those white Tupperware ones? The really thin, flimsy ones, that are great to shove in your handbag but you wouldn't necessarily go out and buy a 10-pack if you could. I had grabbed a permanent marker and was writing the names of these new home owners and their loved ones on all the pens. We were apparently going to pass them off as Christmas gifts for them. Oh yes. The break and enter disruption all hinged on this blatant lie. They'd surely never buy it. I do recall looking down at what I was doing and thinking... These look like utter shite and we'll never get away with it.

Thank God Jazz started barking and woke me.

I honestly have no clue where my mind goes a-wandering. I'll bet you've never had a dream where you break into your old house and start defiling Tupperware merchandise in order to pass it off as a genuine item.