I just had this dream (on Chef’s day off he let me have a nanna nap as I’m in the process of changing one of my meds and the old switcherooo is giving me dizzy spells of impressive proportions) which involved us living near the US-Canadian border.
We had Oscar and Felix who seemed to be teenagers and a group of Felix’s friends. It was snowing.
We joined and indeed incited this group to embark in a game of
highly illegal and awful high-jinx involving one going into a shop and requesting something that required the assistant to go out the back and look for it for some time while everyone else then snuck in and stole a range of items.
I pocketed a silencer while AB secured the most massive and black and shiny and dare I say handsome? rifle or some othe firearm which he hid inside his shirt and down the leg of his jeans.
Then – almost peeing ourselves with that laughter that comes from adrenalin and stupidity – we high-tailed it out of there and back over the border into Canada, with AB lying back in the passenger seat due to being unable to bend.
This is what happens when you start changing your meds, talking about moving overseas (dreaming people, we don’t even have enough cash to get to the airport let alone pay for airfares anywhere), looking at options for managing possums in the backyard and realising your second son is as tall as your shoulders.