This hasn’t been a good week for me in la-la land. While visions of sugarplums usually come easier than an ECU diploma, the past week has been littered with dream mines. Last night was the closest I’ve gotten to a restful reprieve. I was able to close my eyes long enough to witness ….
Myself and Gabrielle were out and about. I was driving down the road when my windshield was darkened by the world’s largest water slide. Well, maybe “largest” isn’t the best word. “Highest” would be more descriptive, as in, you would have to be really high to want to ride this ride.
Gabrielle spied the slide and the water it met. She started pointing and making excited noises, so we got out and walked that way. We climbed to the top where we met a line of peeps waiting to meet their maker. For some reason, I left Gabby to her lonesome in line. I was distracted by a nearby pond (and why was a pond near the top of the world’s highest slide? Such is the nonsense of which dreams are made).
While I was pondering ponds Gabby went down solo. I missed it. I was playing with lily pads. Eventually she walks up to me soaking wet and laughing. I was downcast that I forgot to watch her plunge. I picked her up and went to the end of the slide, where everyone was raving about how cute she looked hitting terminal velocity and slamming itty-bitty-feet-first into the pool. My only thought was how pissed I was not have gotten a photo. Yet I couldn’t wait to brag to momma about how great she did. She went sliding ALL BY HERSELF. Next she’ll be windsurfing!
That’s when I woke up. I blame the entire episode on that ill-considered fourth piece of Papa John’s last night.