At least it wasn't plain beige. I guess.

I slept for a solid seven hours last night. HALLELUJAH.

I was just emptying the dishwasher, for the eleventy-millionth time, putting the clean glasses away and it just dawned on me that I had a dream. I haven't dreamt in... when was Clinton president again?... a long, long time. Supposedly dreaming is an indication of heavy, rem sleep, right? So not only did I sleep, I remmed. If we ever have a boy child, he shall be known as Rem.

Back to emptying the dishwasher (if, at this point, you decide to go watch golf on tv in lieu of reading the remainder of this, no one here will judge you). As I was putting the glasses away on shelves with no contact paper, I remembered the dream. I was magically transported to a store that sold nothing but contact paper and I was REQUIRED to choose one to line my cabinets with. I could NOT decide, was in great agony over it and fiiinally decided it should be down to the red family. So after looking through 39,984 samples in the red family, I had painstakingly narrowed it down to two patterns. One was striped with a a few other colors thrown in for good measure and the other was a flower/swirl pattern. I was strongly leaning toward the flower/swirl and then a full bladder put an end to it.

You're welcome for that play by play. 15 seconds you'll never get back.

Whatever happened to the dreams that I was embarrassed/mortified/amused/delighted/terrified/entertained to remember the next morning? Have I developed into a person SO boring that even my dreams (why is that plural?) consist solely of contact paper?
Contact paper.

In ten years or so, when I have my next dream, I'll probably have to convey it play by play again - I just hope it's at least entertaining, if not scandalous.