nude dreams

Last week. That’s right, last week, I had a dream that not only was I naked at Warriewood Square (the Northern Beaches answer to Fountain Gate) but I sidled up to a posh designer toilet as part of those in-square special displays and proceeded to complete ablutions – all the while yelling at the boys to stop running off and stand in front of Mummy to give her some privacy.

I have no idea if this was all just part of my burning and constant desire at the moment to do a wee that lasts more than 3 seconds and is more than 5ml or deals with the whole poo issue with a degree of satisfaction rather than “that’ll have to do” or who knows. It was horrifying and yet compelling all the same.

Other musings of the moment:
– I wonder if my mother ever actually understood the Internet, and actually read this, just how many lemon delicious puddings it would take to a) stop her crying and b) apologise for all the bad bad things I say about her on here.

– Is Barnaby really a bad name?
– If we called it Lulu would she hate us forever?

– I’m hungry, I really need Doritos.

– God that heartburn is a bitch, I wish I hadn’t eaten those Doritos.

– Ah, I’ve walked three steps so naturally, I need to urinate.

– Why does my brother’s choice of life and approach to it irritate me so much. I fear I am turning into Holly Hunter’s sister on Home For The Holidays.

– I wonder if I look fat in this.

– Man my back hurts.

– Do I really need to do a wee or is that just pelvic congestion.

and so on and so forth.