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Old ladies like me should NEVER take decongestants before bed. Case in point: last night. After suffering all day with sinus-migraine crap, I took some Sudafed and went to bed. Before retiring, I'd been perusing info about Flemish working-class outfits (WANT one!) and reading Ultimate Marvel Team-up, starring Spider-Man. I then had a very intricate dream in which I was attending an SCA event in an old Victorian house owned by my sister-in-law's mom. (She doesn't own a house like this one, but it was in my dream, okay?) I was hurrying to finish up my documentation for the A&S competition. I was trying to get my computer to print out the betrothal scene from the Tres Riche Heures, which included a nice version of the little-known 15th century Spider-Man costume. In my dream, I'd found documentation stating that young ladies of rank often dressed as Spider-Man for fun, especially at weddings.I had focused on construction of special bosom-binding undergarments, which would give the young lady in question the appearance of powerful pectoral musculature. None of this struck me as odd in my dream. I was frustrated, though, that Thjora wouldn't come help me, because she was busy playing with kittens. They were on her head, crawling all over her skirt, everywhere. The dream concluded with a stretch-limo Ford Explorer loaded with Catholic schoolboys in kilts pulling up outside the site with a flat tire. Colin dispatched me to help, giving me a large rubber mallet that I was to give to the driver. The chauffeur turned out to be Blackbear, shaved totally bald--no beard, no moustache, no eyebrows, no scalp hair. He seemed to think that a rubber mallet was the perfect tool for a tire change, and thanked me gravely. The schoolboys milled about, complaining that their privates were cold under their kilts. At that point, I woke up, wanting to go start on my Spider-Man costume right away. My point? If, the next time you see me, I'm wearing a blue-and-red cote with odd weblike embroidery, don't ask. Just try to keep me from swinging on the chandeliers, okay? And, Thjora, stay away from those kittens. Blackbear, no more odd haircuts. Colin, don't give me any tools. I'm deranged. On the Headbone: Further Down the Old Plank Road, the Chieftains. Wow! |
 
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Cait's Unhinged