I had an odd dream the other night. It seems I was a mite peckish (in the dream) and decided to make some soup from scratch. I find soup oddly reassuring in that I can eat it entirely with a spoon and avoid those other odd and infuriating utensils. And chopsticks? Fuhgeddaboudit.
Anyway, I am thinking that lentil soup would be perfect; a rich hearty broth which screams “healthy” with every bite. Plus, the word lentil comes from the latin word “lens” because the little legume is shaped like a lens.
Anyway back to the dream. It takes a while to make lentil soup, what with all the slicing and dicing, but finally it is ready so let the health begin! I ladle out a big bowl and bring it to the kitchen table but, dagnabit! I proceed to drop the bowl on the floor, where it explodes into a shower of ceramic and soup; basically a gigantic mess.
I race to get a towel to start cleaning, but the only thing I can find at hand is my brand new flannel shirt. I hesitate but then decide: the shirt must be sacrificed for the greater good. While I clean I realize two things. This shirt will never smell the same, and flannel is really good a sopping up lentil soup.
This dream suffers from many obvious plot holes, namely, are you sure there was NOTHING else in the entire (dream) house to clean the mess? Apparently not, as my dreams exist to torture me with what-ifs. Next time here is my plan:
whoisfenton 