O’er Ladies’ Lips, Who Straight on Kisses Dream

The first dream of the evening last night, courtesy of Queen Mab, I reckon, took a wrong turn pretty much immediately:

I was taking a bath… a normal, naked bath… in water.  Nothing weird yet.

And then John Edwards walked in, wearing a very nice suit.  It was so dark grey it was almost black and bordered on tuxedo in terms of formality.  There was no vest, but it was super-schmancy.



My response to his entering my bath chamber, was to stand up in the tub, facing him.  I could be wrong, but I don’t think this is how I would respond in real life; I imagine a good deal more flailing and screaming and shower-curtain-grabbing.  But that’s what I did.

He did something akin to confessing his undying love for me (despite the fact that I had never met him, and I didn’t really know what he was doing in my house, let alone my bathroom), and then he leaned in for a kiss.

I was not into kissing John Edwards.  I actually thought, in the dream, “Ewwww, you skeevy bastard, you’re probably riddled with disease!”  So, I summarily pushed him away, beginning a bit of the flailing that I think was overdue at that point.

The thing I most remember about the dream is that I actually felt bad about getting water all over his suit, which darkened in one of those “Ohhhh yeah, I’m totally gonna stain, and there is nothing you can do about it” ways.  I didn’t feel bad for HIM… but it felt like… like a crime against fashion.  It was a really nice suit.

I resisted his advances enough that he eventually went away, and I went back to my bath.  ‘Cause that’s totally reasonable.


The second dream I remember was almost as sketchy:

Some friends and I walked into a food shop.  It was mostly like a deli, with a hint of coffeeshop and a dash of convenience store.  It was BIG, though, and packed, both with patrons and with workers behind the counter.  There were several types of orderable and serve-yourself foods, but the main section of counter, the entire back wall, consisted entirely of a glass display case like the type in ice cream shops.

Inside this case, there were rows and rows of those rectangular metal vats like they serve gelato in, and the substances within them LOOKED like gelato.  The vats were filled with thick, creamy dairy-looking substances, of varying colors, some with bits of stuff in them, all of them swirly-topped in that vaguely decorative way.



It. Was. Not. Gelato.




The shop (or “shoppe” as I get the feeling the owner would’ve preferred) specialized in something they called “Repurposed Butter”.




I’m’a let that sink in for a moment.

Repurposed.  Butter.

Apparently, the owners, and about a third of the patrons (I just knew this, like ya do in dreams) thought of Repurposed Butter as a connoisseurial (totally a word) substance, along the lines of cheese or wine or gourmet coffees.  They would taste it on little toast rounds and comment on its complexity.

I, along with the other sane portion of humanity, thought it was the most repulsive idea ever to exist.  Here’s why:

The reason they call it “Repurposed” has to do with how it is acquired.  They don’t churn it freshly in a gelato machine in the back.  No no.  They dumpster-dive for it.

Y’see, they have arrangements with some of the local restaurants, but in other cases, they just head into the trash cans anyway.  Repurposed Butter consists of the leftover bits of butter that are thrown away.

That half-a-pat of butter you left on your plate after buttering your roll?  Repurposed.

That buttery sludge left in the frying pan post-frying?  Repurposed.

That half a piece of toast you buttered but couldn’t quite get to?  Yeah.  They SCRAPE the butter off that and repurpose it.  THAT is why some of the vats appear to have stuff in them… it’s not like the lovely wafery bits sprinkled over stracciatella; those are TOAST CRUMBS.



The weirdest part is that I seem to remember I bought some.  There was some bizarre form of peer pressure happening, where I was still totally disgusted by the idea but felt compelled, due to wanting to avoid being bumpkinish, to try and love this latest food fad.

But I don’t think I ate any in the dream.  I don’t think I could have without throwing up.


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